


Two Little Words

by Rtnwriter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM, Blood and Violence, D/s, F/M, Graphic Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2019-06-18 17:19:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 129,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15490806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rtnwriter/pseuds/Rtnwriter
Summary: In third year, Hermione Granger is rapidly succumbing to the stress of her workload, worry for her best friend, and the secrets she's been keeping from him. The night before the Christmas Holidays begin, Harry corners her in the common room, late at night, and demands to know what's wrong. In the end, two little words will send her on a journey of self discovery as she finds a new way of life, free of doubt and worry. The only questions that remain are, will Harry be the man she needs him to be? And will they be up to the challenges that lie ahead of them both?





	1. Two Little Words

**Author's Note:**

> this story will involve underage sex, BDSM, a D/s relationship and other things. Right now I'm not honestly certain how far down the rabbit hole this is going to go. I don't know how into the extremes they're going to get. But I will try to remember to put a note at the beginning of each chapter to warn you guys about what's coming, like if they decide to try out waterports or something else. I'm really not sure, but I'll let you know, so you can be forewarned. 
> 
> This story is going to be about the idea of Hermione discovering something about herself that she didn't know, something that frightens and intrigues her and her getting Harry to help her with this adventure she decides she needs to embark on. This will change both of them in many ways. I'm hoping to avoid the whole Perfect Dom Harry concept, so expect mistakes, expect awkwardness, expect discussion and heart to heart conversations. This is NOT just a smut fic, though there will be plenty of sexy scenes throughout.
> 
> Neptune20 started a Discord Server to dicuss his works as well as this one and a few others. Feel free to join us and chat stories, offer suggestions, hang out, etc. https://discord.gg/RagyYZA

Two Little Words

by,

Rtnwriter

 

 

Hermione Jean Granger was many things. She was a bookworm (and proud of it). She was stubborn. She was independent. She was frighteningly intelligent. She was fourteen-years-old. And, most unusually of all, she was a witch. A true, honest to god, cauldron stirring, wand waving, witch.

In her third year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she was one of, if not the, top student in most of her classes. And oh, what classes they were. Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic, Muggle Studies, Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes.

Yes, she had a very full schedule. Which led her to the last, or at the least, the most pressing thing that she currently was.

She was one very stressed witch!

_Merlin’s beard, she thought. Have I finally bitten off more than I can chew?_

“Hermione?”

_I mean, really, do I need all of these classes? Muggle studies is so out of date as to be ridiculous._

“Hermione.”

_And Divination… ooohhh! If that bat predicts Harry’s death just one more time I’ll-_

“Hermione!”

Hermione blinked, startled out of her musings by the sharp voice coming from her right and she turned to find herself staring into a pair of expressive green eyes. For a moment, she was transfixed by that worried green gaze before she shook herself out of her trance. She was eternally grateful that the warm, red light of the dying fire would mask her blush.

At least, she hoped it would.

“I’m sorry, what was that, Harry?” she asked, trying not to sound irritated with her best friend for interrupting her thoughts.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for a few minutes, now,” he said.

She frowned. “Well, I’m sorry,” she snapped. “I was thinking.”

“I could see that,” he shot back, grinning slightly. “I was beginning to worry that smoke might start pouring out of your ears at any moment.”

She huffed, angrily, and leaned back in her seat on the small sofa near the fireplace, her arms crossed over her breasts.

Harry sighed, running a hand back through his unruly black hair as he realized that his attempt at a joke had fallen flat and he dropped heavily onto the sofa next to her, casually draping one arm over her shoulders as he pulled her unresisting body against him. It both thrilled and frustrated her to no end how he could so easily do that to her. She knew how much he disliked it when people touched him. Except with her. He didn’t have a problem touching her, or being touched by her, and she loved that about their friendship. 

What frustrated her was that she didn’t quite know what to do with what it did to her. How it made her feel. So, she did her best to ignore it. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, quietly. “I was trying to get you to laugh, but that wasn’t a very good joke.”

“Wellll…” she drawled out, “it wasn’t  _bad_  necessarily. Maybe just your timing could have been better?” she offered by way of truce. 

“What are you still doing up?” he asked, silently accepting her peace offering. “It's late.”

“I was going back over the exams,” she told him in a slightly exasperated tone. “I think you've known me long enough by now to know that I always do that.”

He laughed, a low chuckle that resonated up from somewhere deep in his chest. “Yeah, that's you to a tee,” he admitted. “But you know you don't have to go over it all  _tonight_.”

“Best to do it when it's fresh in my mind.”

“How can your mind be at its it's best so late at night?”

She shrugged one shoulder, smiling softly. “It's what I do.”

“I’m worried about you,” he spoke up after a few minutes spent sitting in a companionable silence. “You’ve not been acting like your usual self. You disappear and reappear with no warning or explanation and you’re really stressed and irritable, lately. I don’t like what this year is doing to you.”

“I’m fine-” she started to say when Harry cut her off.

“You’re about as ‘fine’ as I am whenever I pull that crap,” he said, flatly. “I’m the reigning champion of ‘fine’, so it’s not going to work on me.”

She said nothing, her teeth worrying at her lower lip as she stared into the fire. How could she tell him the truth? That she wasn't fine. She was tired and stressed and worried. Sirius Black was out there and he was apparently after her best friend. She was so worried about him and his habitual rule breaking and the nearly pathological need he seemed to have to throw himself into danger. That, on top of her class stress, and she was going completely spare with worry. 

“Do you know what F.I.N.E actually means?” he asked, startling her out of her musings, again. 

“It has several different definitions-”

“It means Fucked-up Insecure Neurotic and Emotional. Please. Talk to me, Hermione.”

When she still said nothing, beyond a rebuke for his language, he started poking her side with one finger. “I’m not going to leave you alone, Granger, until you talk to me,” he told her in a sing-song tone as she squirmed and wriggled in a vain attempt to ignore or escape his fingers.

Eventually, however, she caved and started giggling uncontrollably.

“Harry!” she squealed. “Stop it! I ca-can’t say anything! I’ll get in trouble!”

He suddenly froze and she looked up into his broadly grinning face, her face flushed and her chest heaving with every heavy breath. “So there is something,” he crowed, triumphantly. “Please, talk to me, Hermione. Let me help you. You’ve helped me so much over the last two years, I’d really like to return the favor. I swear, I won’t breathe a word to anyone, not even Ron. I’ll take a magical Oath, if you want, just… please don’t shut me out.”

By the time he’d finished his voice had dropped to something small, and scared. In that moment, she almost blurted out one of her other secrets. One of her most important, and treasured secrets, but she just managed to hold it in.

“Oh, Harry,” she breathed, turning to pull him into a tight hug. “I’d never shut you out, you’re too important to me.”

“Thank you,” he whispered before he pulled back a bit and continued in a stronger voice, “now spill, Miss Granger, or do I have to start tickling you again?”

With a small, rueful laugh, she shook her head and finally gave up. Harry Potter was very nearly as stubborn as she was, and if he thought she was being hurt, he’d out stubborn her any day of the week, to try and help her. Looking around the Gryffindor Common Room to make sure they were alone she moved slightly away from him and turned in her seat so she was facing more toward him.

“All right, but you really can’t tell anyone,” she insisted and his head nodded up and down rapidly. Sighing, she reached for the neck of her jumper and pulled a thick necklace from under her clothes. Once removed, she let it dangle from her neck, the tiny hourglass set into a framework of metal rings hanging just on top of her breasts.

“What is that?” he asked, studying it curiously. He was so focused on the item, that he failed to notice her flushing brightly as she realized that it looked as if he were staring at her chest.

“It’s called a Time Turner,” she explained. “It lets me travel backwards in time in one hour increments. It’s how I’ve been attending all of my classes.”

“That’s how you keep vanishing and popping back up!” he blurted out before suddenly turning thoughtful. “But then… aren’t your weeks something like ten to fifteen hours longer? And that’d be just attending classes, not counting the time spent on the extra homework…” He trailed off, his brow furrowed as his mind raced furiously for a moment. “You can’t go on like this, Hermione. You’re going to burn out.”

She sighed and moved to burrow close against his side, ignoring how her mind kept screaming at her to get away from him. “I can’t just stop,” she muttered. “I need it to get to my classes.”

“You’re pushing yourself too hard. At least drop a class-”

 _That_  caused her to jerk away from him as she cut him off. “I have  _never_  quit a class before,” she burst out, conveniently ignoring the fact that she had been considering doing exactly that before he’d come along and broken into her thoughts. “Never. And I’m not about to start now.”

“Hermione!” he cried, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “This whole Time Turner thing is driving you ‘round the twist. You’ve been cranky and snapping at people. I’m serious, I’m really getting worried about you. Next term will be a lot harder and you will make yourself sick stressing about all these classes. If you won’t lighten your workload, you at least need to find a way to release all the stress, or relax, before you go and bite someone’s head off!”

He was so earnest, so genuine in his concern for her, that her annoyance melted away and she couldn’t help but smile as a warm feeling grew in her chest. Her smile slowly grew into an amused smirk.

“Is that an order, Mister Potter?” she asked, a defiant tilt to her head.

For a moment he could only gape at her before he suddenly burst out laughing. “If it helps, then yes,” he said before he sat up straight and continued in a much more commanding tone of voice. “Consider it a direct order. Find some way to relieve your stress, Miss Granger, or I might have to give you detention.”

She grinned again and, without thinking, ducked her head slightly, so that her eyes were shadowed by her bangs.

“Yes, Sir,” she said, and he laughed again, reaching out to cup her cin and gently tilt her head up so that her cinnamon colored eyes met his emerald green.

“Good girl,” he murmured, smiling warmly.

As those two, softly spoken words reached her ears, a warm flush passed through her body, but before she could attempt to analyze the sensation Harry was standing and had started collecting her books from she’d still had them spread out across the low table in front of her.

“W-what are you doing?” she protested, the feeling momentarily forgotten.

“Packing,” he replied, simply. “It’s after one in the morning and we both need to sleep. You’re still going home to your parents, right?”

She nodded. “I’d like to stay, especially with Black out there, but they really miss me, being away so much of the year.”

“And you miss them, too,” he said, to which she nodded, almost reluctantly. “It’s all right to want to spend time with your parents, Hermione,” he told her. “You don’t have to try to spare my feelings. I’ll be okay.”

Despite his words, his eyes were sad and she leaped off of the sofa to envelope him in another hug.

“You’re a good man, Harry Potter,” she muttered against his neck and he hummed some wordless, non-commital sound in the back of his throat.

“I mean it,” she insisted, pulling back to look him in the eyes. “You’re my best friend, the most important person in my world, aside from my parents. I know you better than you know yourself, so stop doubting me and just accept it when I tell you you’re a good person.”

He finally quirked a small, lopsided smile and nodded. He didn’t say anything, but the sadness in his eyes had faded somewhat, and that, at least, made her feel a bit better.Together, they finished packing away her books and supplies and said goodnight at the base of the stairs before they separated, each heading up to their own dorms.

In the darkened third year girls dorm, Hermione quietly closed the door behind her before making her way over to her large, four poster bed. Setting her bag down on top of the small chest of drawers beside it, she went about brushing her teeth and changing for bed and, by the time she finally closed her bed curtains and slid beneath her blankets, dressed only in a pair of knickers and a tight t-shirt, it was closer to two o’clock than it was to one.

Sighing deeply, she closed her eyes and attempted to push Harry from her mind. Half an hour later, her thoughts were still filled with him, her body flushed and tingling as her mind replayed their conversation over and over. The minute she’d laid down, that warm, flushed feeling she’d experienced when Harry had cupped her chin and called her a good girl had wormed back into her mind and she couldn’t understand it, or shake it.

It felt… good. Like how she felt when she knew she’d done well on a test. Or when she’d solved a particularly difficult puzzle. No... It felt better than that and she stopped trying to study it for a few moments and simply let the memory of it wash over her. As she did, a warmth pooled between her thighs and she blinked, startled to realized that, unconsciously, the tips of the fingers of her left hand were trailing across one braless breast, over the thin material of her shirt, sending further tingles throughout her body.

She groaned, aloud and let her right hand slide down the front of her body, slipping under the waistband of her knickers. “Damn you, Potter,” she muttered, just before her middle finger easily found her clit. It would be some time, still, before she managed to get any sleep. 

 

##### 

 

The ride to Kings Cross from Hogsmeade was spent in quiet contemplation. Never before had Hermione been so grateful that she was so isolated from her peers. Harry and Ron were really her only friends which... actually made being isolated from her peers in the compartment rather easy, as no one really wanted to speak with her. Not even Malfoy or any of his ilk, as he’d apparently elected to remain at the school again this year.

Before, that would have bothered her. On this particular day, however, it gave her time to think over the conversation she’d had the night before with her best friend, and the joking ‘order’ he’d given her to follow. As much as it pained her to admit, he was right. She really did need to find some outlet for the stress she was putting on herself. She was heading for a breakdown if she kept on the way she was. A bad one. She was willing to admit that to herself, at least. What was causing her specific confusion and frustration was just one small part of the previous evening’s discussion, and it also seemed to be closely tied to what she’d done after she went to bed. 

Despite what most of her classmates might say, were one to ask, Hermione was not the prude she appeared to be. She was a healthy, fourteen-year-old girl, with a maturing mind and body and a full accompaniment of hormones racing through her system. She had masturbated plenty of times in the past. During those times, however, she hadn’t exactly been thinking of anyone specific, choosing instead to focus on the feelings her hands and fingers produced in her body to bring herself to release.

Last night, a definite person had been on her mind. The remembered sensation of his hand cupping her chin, and the pleased words that had come from his lips. The warm feeling she’d experienced had filled her and she’d orgasmed harder and faster than ever before, leaving her a breathless and sweaty heap in the middle of her bed. Then she'd done it twice more before she was able to sleep. 

Which, of course, only served to further confuse her. Why had it hit her so hard? Was it because of Harry, or was it the words he'd said to her? And with either of those, what exactly did that mean? 

That morning, she hadn’t even been able to look Harry in the eye at breakfast before leaving to catch the train, and she knew her behavior probably hurt his feelings. She sighed despondently, realizing she would have to do something nice to make that up to him when she got back. Hurting him was absolutely one of the last things she would ever intentionally do. 

It wasn’t the first time she’d had a thought of a more sexual nature regarding Harry, but those past thoughts she’d waved away with the understanding that her two best friends were boys, and not bad looking boys, at that. It was really only natural that she’d have some kind of thoughts about one or both of them as time went on, she assured herself. But somehow, what she’d done felt almost like a betrayal of her best friend, and she wasn’t at all sure how to handle that. He trusted her, and she felt like she’d somehow broken that trust.

Harry had been there for her when no one else had even tried. Saving her from the troll in their first year, she knew, had been entirely his idea. He’d had to force Ron to come along even though the redhead had dealt the knockout blow with the thing’s club. Harry had sat beside her bed while she was petrified the year before and talked to her for hours, frequently sneaking back into the Hospital Wing under his father's cloak after Madam Pomfrey had kicked him out, just to keep her company. She frowned, thinking over the fact that she still hadn’t told him that she’d been able to hear every word he’d said to her while she was lying there, petrified. He’d bared his soul to her in the dark of the Hospital Wing, and she responded by using thoughts of him to get herself off like some kind of… some kind of  _slut_! 

Furious with herself, and the meandering, fractured direction of her internal debate, her right hand balled into a fist and slammed itself into her thigh, nearly without her conscious will. She bit her bottom lip as a brief flare of pain shot through her leg. For a short moment, her mind went blissfully silent, focusing only on the pain in her leg before it faded into the background and she went about gathering together her scattered thoughts.

The lady with the snack trolley came by half way through the trip, but Hermione remained oblivious to her surroundings, lost in her musings, book open on her lap but not actually seeing the words printed on its pages. Honestly, what exactly had caused her to act that way? It was such a simple thing. Two little words. An affirmation of her doing a good job. That he was pleased with her.  Had she developed some kind of pavlovian response to such words, after the praise she’d received from various teachers for her academic achievements over the years? 

Off the top of her head, that seemed to be the most logical answer, but it didn’t explain the severity of her reaction. That hadn’t just been pleasure in a job well done, that had been… visceral. It had been primal. It was something she simply could not wrap her head around no matter how she tried. But how to test to see if her conclusion was correct?

By the time the train pulled into the station she was no closer to an answer than she’d been at the start of the journey and she did her best to shake the circling thoughts from her mind, looking forward to seeing her parents again. As soon as the train stopped, she grabbed her bag, preferring to leave her full trunk behind at the school for the few weeks she would be gone, and hurried off the train. Due to her haste, she was one of the first off and had a clear path to the barrier leading out to the muggle side of Kings Cross and she made a beeline for it, rushing through to find them waiting for her. 

“Oh, Hermione! We’ve missed you, so much,” Her mother said, enveloping her in the kind of hug she knew she herself had a tendency to give to Harry, and Hermione took a moment to relish the feeling of safety and security that she always felt with her parents. 

“Hey, mum,” she murmured, her eyes closed to the sensation. “I’ve missed you, too.”

Helen drew back and looked down, just slightly, at her daughter, her brown eyes studying her carefully. “Look at you. Every time I see you, you seem more and more grown up.”

“So, does dad not get any love, here?” Richard asked from the side, grinning brightly at his wife and daughter and Hermione answered with a grin and a rib cracking hug of her own, practically throwing herself into her father’s strong arms. 

After pulling away, the three of them linked arms and made their way out of the station to the car parked a block away. For part of the drive home, Hermione talked almost non-stop about what she’d seen and done at school that term, finally thrilled to be able to heap praise on a Defense teacher, since this year, it seemed Dumbledore had actually managed to hire someone competent at the job. Her parents shock at the Dementors was completely expected, but she reminded them that, as vile as they were, they were under the control of the Ministry. (She expressly did not mention the fact that the train had been stopped and boarded on the way to school in the first place.)

Her late night, and the time spent sitting in her compartment thinking, finally took its toll, however, and twenty minutes into the drive, she fell asleep in the backseat, only waking when they were already back at the house to find her father gently shaking her arm. 

“Wake up, Pumpkin,” he murmured as her eyes blearily opened. “We’re home.”

Groggily, she nodded and undid her seat belt before she went to climb out of the car. Her father already had her bag in hand. 

“Why don’t you head on up and take a nap?” he suggested.

“M’not tired,” she muttered and he chuckled for a moment. 

“You’re barely conscious, sweetheart. We’ll wake you for dinner. Go on, there’s a good girl.”

With one foot on the ground and the other still in the car, Hermione froze. Her eyes shot wide open and all traces of sleepiness were instantly banished as those two little words flitted across her consciousness. 

“What did you just say?” she asked, more like demanded, and her father blinked, straightening up in surprise at his little girl’s tone.

“I said. you were barely conscious,” he said, entirely confused by her reaction. 

She shook her head, her bushy mane flying wildly about her head. “No. Not that. At the end. What did you call me?” she demanded, staring intently at him and he frowned for a moment in thought before it came to him.

“Good girl?” he asked. 

Hermione blinked several times, her eyelids fluttering rapidly for a moment as a small smile appeared on her lips, and she leaned forward to hug her father. 

“Thank you, daddy,” she muttered, and then moved around him to hurry up to the house, a definite bounce in her step that hadn’t been there moments before, leaving her bewildered parents standing in the driveway, looking after her. 

After a few moments, they shook themselves from their stupor and her mother unlocked the front door, letting Hermione hurry ahead of them to dash up the stairs to her room where she threw herself on her bed and rolled over onto her back, her wild hair splayed out around her head as she stared up at her cream colored ceiling. 

There was a definite smile on her lips. Good girl. She’d felt a similar warm glow, hearing that from the man that was her father. A man she respected, loved, and trusted. It wasn’t quite the same as what she’d felt the night before, of course, this was her  _father_ , after all. But she’d definitely felt something similar, and that gave her a place to start. 

Just before she drifted off for a well needed nap, she realized that there was one more thing that Hermione Jean Granger was. With something new that she needed to research, she was a witch on a mission!


	2. Research Woes

Two Little Words

by,

Rtnwriter

 

When Hermione woke the next day, her eyes opened and she stared up at the ceiling above her for a few minutes, her mind slowly clawing its way through the fog of sleep until she was fully aware of her surroundings. 

_Good girl._

The words floated through her mind and she shot out of bed, darting across the room to her closet even as she stripped off the t-shirt she’d worn to bed, leaving her wearing nothing but her knickers. She dug around in the closet for a moment before stepping back out with a change of clothes and undergarments in hand. 

A glance at the clock told her that her parents would have left for work already, so she left her room as she was and dashed for the bathroom at the far end of the hall. Once the door closed behind her she looked into the mirror to find the expected rosy tint in her cheeks that extended down her neck and across her upper chest. That mixture of thrill and embarrassment connected to baring her body in a ‘public’ area of the house, even though she knew that no one was actually home to see her, never failed to cause her to blush. 

She ignored the tingling sensations running through her body and took a quick shower before she dried off and dressed. Fifteen minutes after entering the bathroom, she was leaving and headed downstairs to find a note from her mother sitting on the kitchen table. 

_-Hermione_

_Your father and I left for the practice early this morning. I should be home around one this afternoon so we can have a slightly late lunch together. I’ll bring Antonio’s home with me. Call me at the practice before twelve if you won’t be home by that time and maybe I can pick you up from wherever you are._

_Love you,_

_Mum_

Hermione nodded while she read the note, thinking that gave her plenty of time to start her research project, and she reminded herself to thank her mother. Antonio’s was her favorite Italian deli and a lunch from there was always sure to be fantastic. 

Too eager to worry about breakfast, she grabbed her empty bag and slung it over her shoulder. Leaving the house, she locked the door behind her and started for the local branch of the London Public Library, ten blocks away. 

 

##### 

 

Helen Granger was confused. The note she’d left for her daughter was missing from the kitchen table, so she knew Hermione had read it. Yet, when she came home half-an-hour ago, Hermione was nowhere to be found. Such behavior was unusual from her, usually, conscientious daughter, and she really wasn't sure what to think of this strange departure from the normal. 

Just as she began to consider calling her husband at the Practice, the front door opened and the cause of her confusion and concern stormed into the house.

‘Stormed’.

It was really the only word she could think of to describe her daughter’s actions. Each step was sharp and angry after the door blew open then slammed shut behind her. Her face was flushed and her posture stiff as she moved past the kitchen, heading for the stairs.

“Hermione?” Helen called, then blinked when she heard a startled shriek followed by a tumbling crash.

 

##### 

 

Nothing. 

She’d found nothing, or next to nothing, over the several hours she’d spent combing the Library. Pavlov and his dogs still seemed like a reasonable explanation… but there were variables that didn’t seem to fit. Stockholm Syndrome held similarities, she felt… but again, not close enough.

She was buried deep in a large tome of psychological disorders, searching through the many pages for some shred of information, when her neglected stomach growled furiously and Hermione flushed a brilliant red, looking around swiftly to see if anyone had heard. Luckily, it appeared as if she was the only one in the area of the building where she’d chosen to set up for her study.

With a mental groan, she closed the book and gathered the others that she had yet to look through together. The ones she’d finished with had already been returned to their proper places on the shelves. Never let it be said that Hermione Granger did not show books and Libraries the proper respect that they deserved.

She chose not to think about the time in second year when she had actually torn a page from a library book at school. The circumstances were entirely different! 

As she stood at the counter to check out the books she planned to take with her, she failed to notice the Librarian quirking a brow in her direction at some of the titles, nor did she see the woman reading the slip of paper on which she’d written down some of the details around her search.

“Here you go,” she said, pushing the stack of books across the counter toward the teen, who blinked in surprise for a moment before she started loading a few of them into her bag.

“Thank you, Missus Markel.”

“You’re very welcome, dear. Now, I know you know the drill, so I don’t have to worry with you. I’ll probably see you back here tomorrow?” she asked with a knowing grin as Hermione flushed, just slightly. She’d known Missus Markel since she was four and had come in with her mother one weekend to pick up a few books. The woman had worked at that particular branch for nearly thirty years and she and Hermione had long since established an unusual friendship. Beyond her parents, the woman was probably one of the closest people to her outside of immediate family, Harry, and Ron.

“Probably,” Hermione admitted, grinning unconsciously at the woman. She scooped up the last two books that wouldn’t fit in her bag, after slinging one strap over her shoulder and waved one hand at the woman behind the counter. “See you tomorrow,” she said, and hurried her way out of the building.

As she walked, her mind wandered, leaping from topic to topic, back and forth, going over every moment of ‘that night’. She thought over how she’d felt and attempted to compare it to the various things she’d already read over that day, coming up with insufficient connections with each thing she tried. By the time she reached the house, she had worked herself into a complete tizzy and she slammed the front door open and then shut again, taking out some small measure of her frustration on the inanimate, solid oak door.

She stalked through the entry way and past the kitchen, heading straight for the stairs that would lead her up to her bedroom where she could dump her bag before she set about filling her empty stomach, very nearly oblivious to her surroundings beyond what was immediately in front of her.

“Hermione?”

The unexpected sound of her mother’s voice startled her so badly that she let out an involuntary shriek of surprise, spinning around mid-step, halfway up the stairs. Her heavy book bag swung wide with the motion, throwing her so off balance that she stumbled back and fell, landing hard on her bum on the next step up even as the books in her arms fell from her grasp and tumbled loudly down the stairs.

She sat there, one hand clutched to her heaving chest, her jean clad legs stretched out in front of her as her mother came hurrying out of the kitchen to stop at the base of the stairs, looking up at her in obvious concern.

“Sweetheart?” she asked. “Are you okay?”

“Merlin’s beard, mother!” Hermione burst out. “You scared the life out of me. What are you doing home?”

Helen frowned as she bent down to pick up the books lying at her feet.

“I left you a note saying I would be here around one. It was gone when I got home, so I’m sure you saw it.”

Hermione groaned, realization hitting her like a bolt of lightning. 

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I was so wrapped up in a research project that I completely forgot. I just came home because I was hungry.”

“Research? They didn’t give you all homework over the break, did they?” Helen asked in surprise. It didn’t even occur to her, at the time, that Hermione likely wouldn’t have been doing any research for her classes at the local Public Library.

“No,” Hermione said, waving away the question as she slid her bag off her shoulder and pushed herself, somewhat painfully, to her feet. “No, nothing for school. Just a personal project I’m working on.”

“A personal project, huh?” When her mother’s voice reached her, she realized her tone had suddenly changed. It was a tone that teens the world over knew all too well. A tone that told them that the parent had just realized something that they thought their child was trying to hide from them. A knowing tone that said ‘I’m not as dumb as you think I am, kid’.

When Hermione looked up, wondering just what had caused that particular tone to enter into her mother’s speech, her eyes widened and the bag she’d just picked up dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers to tumble down the stairs as she spied the book in Helen Granger’s hands.

Even from where she stood, she could easily make out the title, ‘The Psychology of Human Sexuality’ and the expression on her mother’s face had two little words going through her mind.

_Oh shit!_

 

##### 

 

Helen bent down and picked up the bag that had tumbled to a stop near her feet and when she straightened she met her daughter’s eyes and turned, jerking her head in the direction of the kitchen door. 

“Well?” she said. “Come on. We can have lunch and catch up a bit.”

She couldn’t hide the smirk on her lips when she heard Hermione groan behind her and didn’t even try since she had her back to the girl. As pleased as she was to still be able to tease and embarrass her daughter, Helen was more than aware that there was likely a very serious discussion in their immediate future, and by the time Hermione appeared in the doorway she’d schooled her expression into something vaguely pleasant, and not at all judgemental.

Or so she hoped. 

Hermione’s face was the reddest she’d ever seen it and she couldn’t meet her eyes, looking just about everywhere but at her mother as she took a seat at the table across from where Helen was in the process of emptying the book bag, stacking the books she found into separate piles. 

Of course, once she read the titles, she wasn’t sure exactly what discussion they were going to be having. By the time she’d finished she had two separate stacks. One stack was purely on psychology. The second stack held books on psychology in relation to sex and sexuality.

Silently, she turned and pulled two plates and two glasses from the kitchen cabinets, quickly setting out still steaming hot meatball subs onto the plates as she poured two glasses of fruit juice. Passing a plate and a glass to her daughter she moved the books aside and sat down with her own plate and glass and began eating. 

The silence seemed to be worse for the teen across from her than any lecture or rant that Helen might have gone on, and she knew that. Hermione barely picked at her food, despite it being one of her favorites and she took only a small sip from her glass, sitting there, miserably, for a time, never lifting her eyes from her plate. 

“So,” Helen said in a conversational tone, finally breaking the long silence after she’d polished off her own sandwich and refilled her empty glass. “Has anything else interesting happened at school this term that you haven’t mentioned yet? You were so tired, yesterday, I’m sure you left out some of the story.”

Hermione shook her head and mumbled something that might have been a denial, but the words were completely lost. 

“Hermione?”

Hermione said nothing.

“Hermione, look at me.”

Slowly, she lifted her head, her cheeks still stained with a dark blush and hesitantly met her mother’s eyes.

Helen smiled, as comfortingly as she could. “I’m not upset with you, Honey. Really, I’m not. You’re fourteen. Your father might like to think that you’re still his little princess in her favorite fairy dress granting wishes with her magic wand-”

“I was five!” Hermione blurted out, her face darkening even more and Helen barely held back a chuckle.

“I know, dear. But fathers are like that. They don’t want to admit that their little girls will grow into women. Mothers, however, have no such illusions. Like I said, you’re fourteen, and I know just what it’s like to be fourteen. I haven’t forgotten that phase of my life, as much as I might want to, at times. So, I’m not upset with you. But I would like an honest explanation.” Reaching out she placed one hand on the stack of books that included sex. “What, exactly, is this research project, and why are you working on it?”

Hermione squirmed in her seat, staring at the table in front of her again, refusing to meet her mothers eyes. Deciding to take a stab in the dark she sighed, perhaps a bit theatrically. “I guess I should have expected this, sooner or later,” she said, propping one elbow on the table and letting her chin rest on her upturned palm. “I mean, your father has been wondering since your first year if there are any other girls at your school since your letters home only ever seem to mention two boys. Which one of them has caught your eye? That red headed boy? Rob? Ron?”

“I am not interested in Ronald Weasley,” Hermione blurted out, looking horrified at her mother’s suggestion. “He’s not a bad looking boy, but he’s a lazy slob, and he and I do almost nothing but bicker and argue with each other.”

Helen nodded. “Ah, then it’d be Harry?”

That time Hermione’s protests were far less vehement, or coherent, as she merely spluttered for a few moments, blushing furiously again before she looked back down at the table. 

“Harry’s my best friend,” she mumbled.

“Hmmmm… that’s not a denial,” Helen pointed out, a small grin turning up the corner of her mouth.

Her daughter visibly squirmed in her seat, her fingers twitching and twining together on the table in front of her. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “Harry’s… he’s special. He’s nice and caring and he’s incredibly brave. I’m pretty sure there’s hardly a witch in the castle that doesn’t fancy him, at least a little.”

“But you’re his best friend,” Helen pointed out. When Hermione only shrugged she sighed again and leaned back in her seat. “Look, I want to be able to help you, Sweetheart, but I can’t do that if you won’t talk to me. I can’t imagine what you’re trying to research with books like these, but lacking any other information all I can assume is an interest in boys that I’d pretty much expect from someone your age. Is Harry pressuring you about sex?”

“No!” Hermione practically yelled. “No, mother, it’s nothing like that, it’s…”

She trailed off and Helen leaned forward again, staring intently at her daughter. “What is it, then? You’re a smart, level headed girl. I know you wouldn’t let someone pressure you into something you didn’t want to do. At the same time I don’t want you convincing yourself to get into anything you’re not ready for, either. You can be your own worst enemy at times, Hermione.”

The teen groaned again, laying her head down on the table in front of her and Helen reached out to pull her plate aside, just before her wild mane of hair landed in it. “It’s… it’s just, someone said something, last week at school. I don’t know, it just got me curious about… I guess about the mental aspect of… attraction, maybe? As in, what things people find attractive, and why?” Hermione muttered.

With one brow curiously arched at her daughter, Helen could admit that was certainly a plausible explanation for the types of books she was looking at, but something about her delivery told her that wasn’t the entire story. She was well aware, however, that she probably wouldn’t be able to get much more out of the girl. Not without potentially alienating her, at least.

“All right,” she said, leaning back in her seat again.

Hermione lifted her head. “All right?” she asked, clearly surprised that Helen appeared to be dropping the topic.

Helen nodded. “All right,” she repeated. “I’m fairly certain that’s not the whole story but… well there’s no point causing a fight over it, not at the moment.” Her eyes narrowed slightly a second later, however. “But, we will be having a little conversation, right now, about some of the finer aspects of the males in our lives.”

“Oh, Merlin, you are not giving me another Talk,” Hermione moaned, and she buried her face in her hands.

“Yes, I am, and I’ll also be making an appointment with the OBGYN we set you up with this summer. If at all possible, I intend to see you going back to school with some kind of protection.”

“MOTHER!”

“Be as scandalized as you like, Hermione, but I’m not an idiot. I said you’re smart and level headed, but you’re also a developing girl with more hormones running through your body than you can imagine. I’d rather you not take this as permission to be having sex, but I’d also rather you be protected than there be an accident that we have to worry about while you’re away at school, and away from us. Your father and I have no illusions that we have any control over your actions, and I’d like to think that you’d wait ‘till you’re older, but I wasn’t much older than you are now, myself, so I can’t exactly say that without feeling like a hypocrite.”

“I’m a witch,” Hermione pointed out. “We don’t even know if non-magical means would work properly on me.”

Helen pursed her lips, thoughtfully. “Very good point,” she admitted. “In that case, I’ll be writing to your Head of House, McGonagall, was it?” she asked, ignoring the absolutely horrified expression that stole over her daughter’s incredibly red face. “I know I can send an owl at that Diagon Alley. You’ll be seeing your school nurse when you go back, just in case our contraception won’t work as intended.” Helen stood and took her empty plate and glass over to the sink. 

“If you’re done eating, go change. We’ll swing on over, I can send off a letter, and since we’ll already be out, we’ll go by your doctor’s office and see if there’s a walk-in available. If not we can find out if there’s an appointment available before you head back to school.”

Clearly grateful for even a moment to escape, Hermione leapt to her feet and practically sprinted from the kitchen as Helen called after her, “and we can have our talk on the drive!”

Another embarrassed moan floated into the kitchen and Helen grinned before she moved to the living room and collected a pen and some stationary, sitting down at the couch to begin her letter. 

It wasn’t as complete a discussion as she might have liked, she was able to admit to herself. Hermione hadn’t really explained her ‘project’, but it was better than nothing, and she still had the rest of the afternoon, and the break, to pry a little more information out of her daughter.

 

##### 

 

The next two days had Hermione on a roller coaster of embarrassment and frustration. Her mother seemed to delight in taking every opportunity that her father wasn’t around to subtly pry into her daughter’s personal life. On the one hand, Hermione understood that her mother loved her and cared about her and was only trying to help. 

On the other hand, she dearly wished the woman would just leave it alone before she was left with a permanent blush! The Talk she’d been subjected to during their drive had been excruciating in the extreme and Hermione desperately did not want to think of what was going to happen when she returned to school and had to face Professor McGonagall, and then Madam Pomfrey.

On the research front, she was still coming up distressingly empty handed with each foray into the Library. Absolutely nothing that she was finding seemed to fit the reaction she’d had and she had finally looked through nearly every book that she thought might be remotely linked. The problem was that it was really such a vague thing to try and search for. A feeling triggered by a very common phrase.

Good girl. 

Just two little words, but something about them, or maybe the way he’d said them, made the entire situation feel like it was so much more. There was something missing, she was sure of it. Just one little piece of information to point her in the right direction was all she needed, but she was beginning to despair at the possibility of finding anything.

That afternoon, she approached the checkout counter with only three books in hand. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve and the Library was going to be closed for the next few days. She would be spending the next two, at least, with her parents celebrating their usual traditions, so she decided that she would take a break from the frustrating search and try to relax a bit. 

“Here you go, dear.”

Hermione turned her attention back to Missus Markel to find her three books stacked neatly on top of a brightly wrapped package that had apparently appeared on the counter while she’d been distracted.

“What’s this?” she asked, surprised.

“It’s a Christmas gift, Dear,” Missus Markel replied, smiling gently at her. 

“Oh! Oh, you didn’t have to do that, I didn’t get anything for you-”

“I wanted to. I’ve known you a long time, Hermione, and I was going through some old books and thought of you when I came across these. Please, I want you to have them.” She nudged the package across the counter toward Hermione who flushed slightly but beamed at the older woman.

“Thank you, so much,” she said, carefully tucking the gift into her bag before she gathered her books. 

“There’s a letter I left in there. Read that before you look the books over and promise me, you’ll wait till Christmas to open it.”

“I will, and I promise,” Hermione said, breathlessly. “Thank you again, and Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas to you too, and tell your parents the same for me.”

She waved and turned to the next person in the, admittedly, short line at the counter. Most people were too busy with their families to be out at a Library so close to the holidays, meaning Hermione had been able to study in peace for the three days she'd spent on her research. 

Leaving the building, she paused on the sidewalk, pulling her coat tighter around herself against the chill air as she looked up into a light dusting of snowflakes falling from the darkening sky above. Smiling softly, she started walking, doing her best to push all thoughts of research and Harry Potter from her mind. 

For the next two days, at least, she was going to focus on her parents, and on having as pleasant a Christmas as she could. There would be plenty of time for other concerns, later.

 

##### 

 

“What do you mean we won’t be able to celebrate Christmas together?” Hermione blurted out, staring at her parents where they sat across from her at the kitchen table.

When she woke that morning, Hermione had been somewhat… agitated. She couldn’t remember her dreams, not clearly, but she could remember vibrant green eyes and the sound of a familiar voice whispering two little words in her ear.

She was extremely embarrassed to find a pronounced damp patch on the front of her knickers when she woke, and made sure to bury that particular pair as deep in her laundry hamper as she could reach after changing into a fresh pair. She’d quickly thrown on a set of Christmas themed pajamas and hurried downstairs to find her parents already at the table, eating breakfast. 

It was after she was sitting with a plate in front of her that they dropped the bad news. 

“We got a call from Tampa  this morning,” her mother said. 

Hermione frowned for a moment. “Tampa, Florida?” she finally asked, and her parents both nodded their heads. “Aunt Edith! Is everything okay?”

“No,” Richard admitted, but quickly continued before she could panic. “It’s not terrible, either. My sister and her husband were in a small car accident. They weren’t hurt too badly, but they could really use some help with the kids and without their car they can’t get around too easily. Your mother and I are going to fly out late tonight and stay with them for a few weeks to help out, we’re the closest, geographically, and it’s easiest for us to get to them.”

“The biggest problem is how do we get you  back to school?” Helen asked. “We wouldn’t be back here in time for you to catch the train.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed again, ignoring the disappointment she felt at not being able to be with her parents for the holiday, to focus on the immediate problem at hand. “Well, I could go back to school early, easily enough. A trip through the Floo from the Leaky Cauldron at Diagon Alley to the Three Broomsticks at Hogsmeade and I could walk up to the castle from there.”

“I don’t like the idea of you trying to travel alone,” Helen protested and Hermione waved away the concern.

“It’s not like regular travel, mum,” she explained. “If you or Dad could give me a ride to Diagon Alley, literally I step into a fireplace and come out of the fireplace at the village a few seconds later. From the Broomsticks you can see the school, it’s just a ten minute walk from there to the front gate. Actually… if I could send a letter, quickly, to Professor McGonagall, she could probably meet me or have someone else meet me to help me up to the school.”

They debated back and forth for a few minutes before finally settling on a plan of attack. Helen and Richard would be on the phone off and on that day organizing for someone to take care of their patients while they were away. Directly after breakfast. Helen and Hermione would run to the alley so Hermione could send off her letter.

In between everything they needed to do, including packing, they were going to exchange gifts and celebrate as much as they could until her parents needed to leave for the airport, they would be leaving a bit earlier than needed so they could drop her off at the Cauldron and one of them would watch her leave through the Floo for Hogsmeade, just to make sure she left safely. 

With a firm plan in place, Hermione ate as quickly as she could, but still keeping her table manners in mind, and thirty minutes later the Granger ladies were in the car heading for Charing Cross Road and the Leaky Cauldron. 

“Hermione?”

“Hmmm?” Hermione looked up from her letter to her Head of House that she was reading through for the fifth time, just to make sure she’d included all of the pertinent information. 

“I… I wanted us to have another chat,” Helen said, never taking her eyes off the road. “I don’t want to embarrass you and I don’t want to pry, but… you’re our daughter, Honey. We love you and we just want the best for you. You know that, right?

Hermione held back a groan and nodded her bushy head. “I know, mum,” she muttered. “I just… I think you’re worrying about nothing, honestly.”

“The problem is that I don’t know what’s going on, so of course I’m going to worry. That’s what parents do, Darling. We worry about our children. We worry about them getting sick, or hurt, or getting their hearts broken. This research you’re focused on… I don’t know what it’s for but I can tell it’s more than you said it was. 

“I just… well, I want you to know that you can talk to me, about anything. I would never judge you or turn you away. Your father might not like the idea of anything related to sex being discussed with you, but he’s a father, they’re like that, as I said before. Harry is important to you, I can tell from the way you talk about him in nearly every single letter you’ve sent home since your first year. Just don’t do anything that you’re not ready for.”

Hermione’s teeth worried at her lower lip as she thought over her mother’s words, her brow furrowed deeply and her mind whirling as she considered everything and what she might be comfortable saying. To be perfectly honest, Hermione herself didn’t know what she was looking for, exactly, or what it would mean if and when she figured it out. She could admit to having more than just friendly feelings toward her green eyed best friend, but she didn’t think he felt the same. Honestly, she wasn’t sure he would know it even if he did. 

“I don’t think you have any reason to worry, mum,” she said, finally, after several minutes of silence had gone by while she thought. “I haven’t found anything on what I was looking for. I don’t think I’ll find it at school, either. And Harry…” She trailed off and sighed quietly, turning to stare blankly out the window. “Harry means a lot to me, but I don’t think there’s really anything there.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “He’s Harry Potter,” she said as if that explained everything. “He’s famous in our world, more than famous. He can’t go anywhere without people recognizing him. He’s powerful, he’s from an old family line so he's probably somewhat wealthy, he’s handsome, and he could have any girl he wanted if he tried. Why would he want me?” she muttered, despondently. 

Helen was silent for a minute, her focus on a tricky lane change before returning her attention to the conversation.

“Are you interested in his fame?” she asked, and Hermione jerked in her seat, turning to stare at her mother.

“No!” she blurted out.

“Are you interested in his wealth, or his looks, or his old family line?”

“Absolutely not. What are you on about?”

“Well, from what you’ve said, that’s at least one reason that he might be interested in you, Dear,” Helen said, a small smile turning up her lips. How did this conversation go from warning her daughter to be careful to giving her advice about the boy she was obviously carrying a serious torch for?

“What do you mean?”

“He sounds like he’s stuck in the same position as some of those movie stars and singers. Famous and wealthy, but they can hardly ever trust if someone they meet is actually interested in them as a person or the wealth and trappings of their position in the world. Most of those girls that would be all over the poor boy  if he ever gave them a sign he was interested don’t care about him. They care about the fame, the possible wealth, the prestige they’d get for bagging a famous wizard.

“But you? You’re his best friend. You see him. You see the bad moods, the problems, the flaws and the cracks in the facade. You see the real person beneath the titles and the fame. You, he can trust. Trust and friendship, that’s a phenomenal foundation for a relationship.”

Hermione considered that, running the thought around and around in her head, wondering if her mother might not just have a good point. There were still much prettier girls out there than she was, though. If she tried to start something with Harry, would their friendship survive a breakup? If some other girl got his attention? She just didn’t know, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to risk the relationship they had by trying to change it.

Not yet, at least.

“I’ll think about it, mum,” she said and Helen smiled again, reaching out blindly to pat her daughters thigh.

“Just promise me that you'll be careful at school. And please, write to me if you need any advice or if you have any questions.”

“I don’t think you have anything to worry abo-”

“Promise me, Hermione,” Helen cut her off. “Like I said a few days ago. I know we can’t stop you from doing whatever while you’re away. But I really need you to promise me that you’ll be careful, and you’ll talk to me if you need advice. I may not be thrilled if you decide you want sex advice but I’d rather you talk to me instead of getting information from, possibly, questionable sources. Please, for my peace of mind.”

While she’d been speaking, Helen had pulled over into a clear parking space on Charing Cross Road and she turned off the car, turning in her seat to look fully at her daughter. The pleading expression on the woman’s face decided Hermione more than anything she’d said and she nodded.

“Okay, mum,” she said, softly. “I promise. I’m still not so sure you have anything to worry about, but I promise.”

Helen unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned over, pulling Hermione into a tight hug.

“Thank you. I worry so much with you away for so long, but I can’t tell you how proud I am of the woman you’re becoming. I know you know when you’re ready, but that doesn’t make it any easier as a parent.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say to that, so she kept silent and simply hugged her mother until they finally separated and got out of the car. Twenty minutes later, an express owl was winging its way toward Hogwarts with her letter tied securely to one leg. It had cost quite a bit more than regular post, but with any luck at all her letter would arrive in time for Professor McGonagall to be expecting her when she arrived that night in Hogsmeade. 

For the rest of the day they did all they could to enjoy the holiday, exchanging gifts and helping each other to pack what they would need for their respective journeys. Hermione had to return the books she’d borrowed from the Library, since she wouldn’t be able to from school and she had no time to read them before she had to leave. 

By half past nine that evening, she hugged her father goodbye, her bag slung over one shoulder, before her mother escorted her into the Leaky Cauldron and they greeted the ever present barman, Tom. A few sickles handed over as payment and she hugged her mother as well. With one last glance back at the woman, she took a pinch of Floo powder and stepped into the large, empty fireplace.

“The Three Broomsticks,” she called as she threw the powder at her feet. A loud ‘whoosh!’ rose up as an emerald green flame bloomed into existence around her and less than a heartbeat later she was spinning away, back to her world, back to her friends.


	3. Three Weeks

Two Little Words

by,

Rtnwriter

 

Hermione stared blankly up at the darkened canopy above her bed. Her breath came harsh and fast, bare breasts heaving up and down with each frantic gasp for air. Her left hand clutched one breast, squeezing hard, even as her right hand, slick with her own juices, moved languidly between her widely splayed and trembling legs. Her fingers gently teased her folds or brushed lightly against her clit as she slowly came down from an explosive orgasm. 

How? She wondered. How exactly did she get here? Lying in her bed, in the middle of the day, furiously getting herself off. She hadn’t even been able to wait until the evening when she could be sure her dorm mates would be asleep and unlikely to suddenly walk into the dorm. To be fair, she was pretty sure she knew how it happened. It all really started on Christmas Day, three weeks ago.

And it was all Harry’s fault. Harry and his damn two little words!

As her breathing started to even out, and her racing pulse slowed, her mind cast back over the last three weeks, thinking over everything that’d happened, and everything she’d learned. 

 

##### 

 

The spinning was relatively brief as Hermione was swept away from the Leaky Cauldron. A mere handful of seconds later, she was stumbling out of the fireplace at the Three Broomsticks, barely catching her balance before she fell over. 

Collecting herself, she started brushing off her clothes when a tingling sensation passed over her body and all of the soot suddenly vanished.

“Good evening, Miss Granger, and welcome back.”

Hermione started and looked up into the stern visage of her Head of House. 

“Oh! Professor McGonagall. Thank you, and thanks for meeting me, as well, I know it’s late,” she said, smiling at the stern scotswoman.

“It is not a problem, Miss Granger,” the professor said in her usual Scottish burr. “As you said, though, the hour is late, so let us be on our way. Madam Rosmerta, thank you for the use of your fireplace,” she added, turning to the buxom owner of the tavern where she stood behind the bar.

“Not a worry,” she said, waving away the thanks. “We wouldn’t want to see any students stranded, especially not during the holidays. Have a good trip up to the castle and a Happy Christmas to you both.”

Hermione and the professor both offered her a ‘Happy Christmas’ and left, stepping out into ankle deep snow and a frigid, biting wind that had Hermione shivering in moments. She pulled her coat tighter around her body, wishing that she’d thought to dig out her winter cloak before she’d Floo’d in.

The professor quickly cast a warming charm over her and led the way, at a rather brisk pace, to one of the horseless carriages that was waiting nearby. Once they were both inside and the door was securely shut, the carriage started moving, carrying them up toward the castle. Four small orbs of light, one in each corner of the carriage, gave plenty of light for them to see each other, even in the dark of night.

“From your letter, Miss Granger, I understand that you are returning to us early due to a family emergency. I trust it isn’t anything too terrible?” Professor McGonagall asked and Hermione shook her head.

“No, Professor. Not too bad. My father’s sister and her husband were in a small accident and they just need a little help for a few weeks while they recover. The problem is that they live in Florida, so, we really didn’t have many options but for me to come back early.”

“Well, I am pleased to hear that your aunt and uncle will recover. And I am sorry that your time with your parents was cut short.”

“It’s okay, Professor. Yes, I was disappointed, but these things happen. Just have to make the most of it, right?”

McGonagall nodded, her lips, possibly, twitching into the tiniest of smiles. “Indeed,” she said, acknowledging Hermione’s point.

A moment later the small smile vanished, if it had even actually been there, and the professor’s expression grew even more stern.

“While we have this time, I would like to discuss another letter that I received a few days ago, from your mother.”

Hermione very carefully did not groan. She refused to act like a sullen teen in front of her favorite professor. No force on Earth, however, could have stopped the flush that stained her cheeks.

“Yes, Professor?” she asked, quietly.

“Her  letter did not delve into specifics, however she did express a concern that you are, or may soon be, sexually active. She also had questions over whether or not muggle contraceptive medicines would work properly on a young witch. Have I missed anything, Miss Granger?”

“No, Professor,” Hermione said, while inside her head she was silently cursing her mother.

“To be perfectly honest, Hogwarts has few specific rules about consenting sexual activity, beyond barring boys from the girls dormitories, and, of course, getting caught will result in detention and a loss of House points.” At Hermione’s surprised look the professor almost smiled again.

“We are not stupid, Miss Granger,” she said. ”Teenagers will be teenagers. If we suspended or expelled students for having sex, then easily half, or more, of our upper year students would likely be missing from the castle at any given time. That being said, do not mistake that as permission to engage in such activities.”

Hermione shook her head again. “Of course not, Professor.”

The older witch eyed her speculatively for several minutes before she spoke again. 

“I try, very hard, not to have favorites amongst my students, Miss Granger. My sense of professionalism demands it of me. In you, however, I see a great potential. You are an exceedingly bright and capable young witch, and I would be extremely disappointed to see that potential squandered by an early pregnancy. That is the one other hard rule. A pregnant witch may not continue her education. So many risks exist in the learning of magic that they present a very real danger to both mother and child. Any witch falling pregnant while at school is automatically expelled until the child is born, at which point, she might attempt to resume her studies.”

“Professor… I’m not… I mean, I haven’t… and I don’t have any… any plans to…” 

Professor McGonagall nodded at Hermione’s fractured mutterings for a moment before she lifted one hand, motioning for the girl to stop. “Miss Granger, be honest with me. I believe you in regards to your status. However, can you tell me, with absolute certainty, that there isn’t a young wizard at the castle that you might wish to be closer to, in the future?”

Hermione lowered her head, staring at the floor between her shoes as a vision of green eyes darted across her mind. 

“I thought as much. That is nothing to be ashamed of, Miss Granger. I just hope that you exercise the levelheaded caution that I know you to be capable of. And, of course, that your work in class will not suffer.” As she was speaking the carriage came to a stop by the steps leading up to the castle’s entrance and the professor immediately opened the door and stepped out into the cold, movinging aside so that Hermione could join her.

“Now,” she said. “Your mother was quite insistent that you see Madam Pomfrey. We can do that now, as she was warned I might be bringing a student by, or you can wait to do so in the morning. Personally, I would recommend getting it out of the way now, so that it won’t interfere with your Christmas, tomorrow.”

“Let’s go now, then,” Hermione nearly whispered, still unable to look at her Head of House. She nearly jumped when a hand suddenly landed on her shoulder, and she found herself looking up into the older witch’s eyes.

“As I have already said, there is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, child,” she said, gently. “This is all a natural part of growing up, and in my thirty-three years teaching here, I can assure you, I have done this very thing many, many times. None of this changes how I, or Madam Pomfrey, will think of you as a student, or as a person.”

Feeling somewhat comforted by her reassurances, Hermione forced a small smile and nodded her head before she was suddenly following along as Professor McGonagall set the same brisk pace through the castle and up to the Hospital Wing on the third floor.

Striding through the doors, Professor McGonagall led her to one of the beds and directed her to sit before she moved off through the Wing in search of the resident Mediwitch. 

“Miss Granger?” Poppy Pomfrey asked as they came into view and she gave the Mediwitch a small wave. “I must say I’m rather surprised to see you here. I have always felt you had more sense than most,” she said as her wand danced through a series of diagnostic charms. “Ah, more sense than usual, I see,” she muttered with a pleased smile on her face. “Good to see that you're a discerning witch, young lady. So, what are we doing here if Miss Granger is not active?”

“Her mother is of the belief that she will likely be active, sooner than later, and, after speaking to her, I find that I must agree with Missus Granger’s assessment.”

“So, starting her potions, then?”

“Perhaps. There were other questions regarding-”

“Excuse me?” Hermione interrupted. “I’m sorry, but this is all rather difficult enough already without you two talking about me as if I’m not sitting right here, listening to you.”

Both witches blinked in surprise for a moment before Madam Pomfrey recovered herself.

“Quite right, Miss Granger. That was terribly rude of us. If you’ll please just sit back, I will be right back with some potions and a few questions for you.” With a flick of her wand a set of privacy screens erected themselves around the bed, leaving Hermione alone to wait for the matronly Mediwitch to return.

Thirty minutes later saw one thoroughly red faced witch leaving the Hospital Wing with her Head of House, a vial filled with a light pink potion clutched tightly in one hand.

 _What possible reason was there for her to ask how many times I masturbate per week? Or if I was able to reach orgasm each time?_  she thought, bemused and completely embarrassed.

There were no immediate answers forthcoming and in a surprisingly short period of time, she found herself standing in front of the portrait of the lunatic Knight, Sir Cadogan, who had taken over guard duty for the entrance into Gryffindor Tower after Sirius Black attacked and damaged the Fat Lady’s portrait on Halloween. Professor McGonagall gave the password and the portrait swung open without the usual challenges and posturing that occurred whenever a student had tried to enter the tower since he took over the post.

“I am familiar enough with that particular potion to recommend that you prepare for bed and lie down before you drink it,” she said, after a glance around told them that the Common Room was empty. “It tends to kick in quickly. Just leave the empty vial on your nightstand and it will be disposed of.”

She nodded her understanding and after a brief ‘goodnight’ headed upstairs to her dorm, quickly stowing her bag and changing for bed. She brushed her teeth and returned to her bed with a glass of water in hand. Climbing into bed, she sat up against the headboard, her legs beneath the blankets and reached out to pick up the vial, holding it up to stare at the potion contained within. 

According to Madam Pomfrey, that particular potion would prevent her from getting pregnant for three months. There were other potions that lasted longer but they came with greater risks and side effects. The only real side effect mentioned with the potion she held in her hand was the potential of a slightly increased libido, which she thought was rather counterintuitive, but who was she to complain? Since she was informed that muggle birth control would do absolutely nothing in a witches system, potions were required. 

Shaking her head, to rid herself of her rambling thoughts, she uncorked the vial, scrunched up her face in preparation for the vile taste she was about to experience, and quaffed the contents as fast as she could. After she swallowed, she blinked, and stared at the empty vial in her hand, surprised that it hadn’t actually tasted terrible. She couldn’t really place the flavor, but it wasn’t bad at all. Shrugging she set it down on her nightstand and drank down half of her water to wash the potion residue from her mouth, and then wormed her way down under her blankets, already feeling slightly dizzy as the potion began to work.

In moments, she was fast asleep and would not wake until early the next morning. 

 

##### 

 

Late in the evening on Christmas Day, Hermione found herself back in her bed, sobbing into her pillow. The day had started out well enough. When she woke that morning she felt wonderfully rested and bounced eagerly out of bed, showering and dressing quickly in anticipation of surprising the boys with her presence. 

They were definitely surprised, too. Well, Ron was surprised. Harry had seemed quite excited and happy to see her when she walked into their dorm, Crookshanks held in her arms, to find the two of them talking over a broomstick. After the initial excitement, a flash of hurt had flitted across Harry’s face, and she reminded herself that she still needed to apologize to him for not looking at him the day she’d left to go home. 

Before she could do that, however, things had descended into chaos. The broom had apparently been sent anonymously, and from what Hermione gathered  it was easily the most expensive broom on the market. Immediately, she worried that it had been sent, after being jinxed or cursed, by Sirius Black. By all accounts Black was out to get the boy she might be starting to admit that she fancied, more than a little bit. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that he could have done something like that. 

Then, Crookshanks had leapt from her arms in an attempt to get at Ron’s pet rat, Scabbers, and the resulting row had ruined any chance of her getting Harry alone to talk to him. If that had been the extent of things, that all wouldn’t have been too bad. But then she’d gone and done something monumentally stupid. She went to Professor McGonagall to tell her about the broom. Their Head of House had immediately agreed with her idea that it was possible Black could have sent the broom and she had quickly moved to confiscate it so that Professor Flitwick and Madam Hooch could inspect it. 

The row that came from  _that_  had been one for the ages, and Hermione had the feeling that it was going to be a long time before Harry forgave her, if he ever did. Why couldn’t he understand that she was only worried about him? Why couldn’t he have given her a chance to explain herself instead of immediately siding with Ron? 

Eventually, she cried herself out and went into the bathroom to wash her face, grateful that all of her dorm mates had chosen to go home for the break. Returning to her bed, her eyes landed on her bag sitting on the chest of drawers and a sudden memory popped into her head. A memory of a brightly wrapped package with three books stacked on top of it and she scurried over to snatch up her bag, setting it down on her bed.

Opening it, she dug around and quickly located the package, which she pulled out and let the bag drop to the floor. Climbing into her bed, she sat in the middle, her gift sitting in front of her and she carefully unwrapped it, a sense of curiosity humming through her as the paper fell away to reveal the contents were wrapped a second time with plain brown paper and resting on top was a sealed envelope.

 _That’s right,_  she thought.  _Missus Markell said to read her letter first_. 

She quickly picked up the envelope and tore it open, pulling a few crisp pages of stationary from within which she unfolded and pressed flat against her thigh before she picked them up to read.

_-Hermione_

_I have known you for a long time, now, haven’t I? Ten years at least. It has been a real joy to watch you grow into the beautiful young woman that you’ve become and I can only imagine the wonderful adult you will eventually be._

_I’m afraid that, by the time you look through these books, you will know quite a bit more about me than you probably want to, and I can only hope that what you learn won’t change your opinion of me. At least, not negatively._

_Years ago, my late husband and I engaged in a certain kind of lifestyle. One misunderstood by many and seen in a negative light by many others. I assure you now, it is a very special kind of relationship and, if shared with the right person, can be extremely fulfilling and rewarding. It all depends on the degree one wishes to engage in._

_The other day, when you first came in after being away at school, I noticed the titles of the books you were checking out, and, I’m sorry to say, I read the paper where you’d written down some of the details behind your search. I immediately felt that I might have had an inkling as to what it was you were searching for. I didn’t say anything for two reasons._

_1\. If I did say something, and it turned out I was mistaken, it could have been mortifying for the both of us._

_2\. I wasn’t certain that, even if I was right, if I had the right to bring this information to the attention of a fourteen-year-old girl. I’m certain your parents would not be at all happy to learn what I’ve done. However, since I knew you would be away at school, soon, I felt it was important that you get some solid information from me, as opposed to the skewed information you might come across elsewhere._

_I’m certain, now, after the last few days observing you that my initial instinct was correct, so I feel better giving you this information, but I want to follow this with a warning. If you decide to explore this, you will need a partner. Be very, very careful who you choose. You will be placing your full trust in your partner and that trust can easily be abused._

_Please be cautious. Be safe, and be sane, Hermione._

_When you open the package, you’ll find four different books. You should start with the smallest of them and when you pick a partner, if you do, have that person read the next one before anything else. Communication will be key. Neither of you can be afraid to speak your minds. Talk honestly and often. Do not let anything fester._

_I hope to see you back soon, Dear._

_Happy Christmas and good luck._

_Amelia Markell_

 

By the time she finished the letter Hermione’s emotions had vacillated from embarassed to indignant to confused. She read through it again but found things to be no clearer the second time around, so, she set the letter aside and unwrapped the books. The smallest of them was stacked on top so she immediately picked it up, moved back toward the head of her bed, and opened the blank cover to read. 

Ten minutes later, with her face flaming a brilliant red, she slammed the book shut. As she went about burying all four books at the bottom of her trunk, the fluttering sensation in her stomach and the telltale warmth pooling between her legs told her that her flaming cheeks were not the only reaction she'd had to what she'd just read. 

 

##### 

 

Three days passed where Hermione felt a disturbing sense of déjà vu harkening back to the first months of her first year when no one wanted to be her friend, or even spend time around her when they could help it. Ron did nothing but snipe at her whenever she was in hearing, but the worst thing, was Harry.

Harry would simply remain silent whenever she was in the same room and absolutely refused to even look in her direction. Each time it felt like a needle of pain being driven through her chest and she took to avoiding the areas of the school that she knew Ron and Harry tended to frequent. The Common Room and the Great Hall being the two most common. She would visit with Hagrid, or spend her time in the Library, working her way through law books in an effort to help Hagrid with Buckbeak’s case. Since it was also a place that neither boy tended to go to if they could help it, it afforded her more opportunities to avoid them. 

Despite her issues with her friends, her mind wouldn’t leave her alone and frequently wandered back to the books she’d hidden at the bottom of her trunk. For the first time in her life, Hermione Granger flat out refused to learn a new topic. Considering what the topic in question was, she didn’t feel she was being unreasonable, but she still felt odd, abandoning a learning experience as she was. 

Over the rest of the week, Hermione found her thoughts drifting more and more towards those books, and every time they did, she found herself torn. On the one hand, she couldn’t believe what she’d read, or that Missus Markell could think that she, Hermione Granger, could be involved in that. It was the complete antithesis to what she believed in.

On the other hand, the part that had her feeling the most confused, was just how turned on the little she’d read had gotten her. Even thinking about it, days later, had her nipples hardening inside her bra, a disturbingly pleasant shiver running through her body, and a warm tingling sensation between her legs that kept getting more and more difficult to ignore.

Finally, on New Year’s Eve, while everyone else still in the castle attended a small party in the Great Hall, she returned to her dorm immediately after dinner to relax with a long, hot shower. She stood beneath the spray, relishing the sensation of the nearly scalding water running across her naked body. She took her time cleaning herself, firmly ignoring the jolts of pleasure that shot through her each time the rough material of her washcloth dragged across her nipples.

Eventually, her body and hair were completely cleaned and she had no more valid reasons to stay in the shower, so she turned off the water and stepped out, drying her body with a large towel and her hair with a charm from her wand.

She dressed herself behind the closed curtains that surrounded her bed before she stepped out to hang up her damp towel and brush her teeth. At that point, she had run out of things to keep her busy, and she found herself standing in front of her trunk, just staring at it for several long minutes as her teeth worried at her lower lip. Her fingers toyed with the hem of her white t-shirt, bare feet brushing across the rug beneath her as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

Turning to her nightstand, she opened the top drawer and retrieved her wood handled hair brush and sat down at one of the vanities that stood against the wall opposite the row of beds to brush out her long hair. In the reflection of the mirror, she could see her trunk over her shoulder, and even as her hands worked, she couldn’t stop staring at it.

“Oh, honestly,” she finally burst out, slamming the brush down on the vanity as she stood and strode purposefully over to the trunk. Dropping to her knees, she reached for the latch, then hesitated.

“They’re just some books,” she muttered, steeling her resolve as she roughly threw open the lid. Books, school supplies, extra robes, and a few other knickknacks stared up at her and she quickly, and efficiently moved things around until she uncovered the four troublesome volumes she had so resolutely hidden at the very bottom of the trunk.

Hermione reached inside and pulled out the smallest book, briefly eyeing the other three for a moment before shaking her head. No, Missus Markell said to read the smallest book first. She firmly closed the lid and climbed into bed, book clutched firmly in one hand before she turned and drew the bed curtains shut.

With a tap of her wand, a small orb set into the headboard lit up, casting a gentle glow over the space within the curtains so that should would easily be able to see in order to read. Knowing she was stalling, she still took a few minutes to rearrange her pillows and blankets so that she was sitting up comfortably against the head of the bed before she finally took up the book. With her knees drawn up, feet flat against the mattress, she opened the book against her bare thighs and immediately decided to search for something specific and important.

Definitions.

 **Dom:**  A person who exercises control (from dominant-contrast with sub)

 **Submissive:**  or "sub" for short. Person that gives up control either all the time or for a specified period (not to be confused with "bottom" or "slave").

Neither definition was particularly informative and she couldn’t help but wonder which role Missus Markell seemed to think fit her. The words in the woman’s letter about trusting her partner suddenly floated back into her mind and she had two sudden and visceral reactions.

First, her mouth dropped open in utter shock as she realized that Missus Markell thought that she was submissive! That was the only explanation for needing complete trust in a partner. The Dom controlled the submissive, so the person given that control needed to be someone the submissive trusted absolutely.

Second, her face turned a brilliant, flaming red, again, as it clicked into place that her favorite Librarian was implying that she intended to begin a deviant sexual relationship, sometime in the near future, as that was the only reason she would have need of a ‘partner’.

Sweet Merlin, she hadn’t even gotten back into the reading, yet, and already she felt as if her cheeks could burst into flames at any moment! She took a deep breath and started reading, trying to look at the information as learning something new about the world, and not that it might in any way apply to her.

That first book was relatively short, giving a brief explanation of BDSM and, what she learned was known, in the short form, as a D/s relationship. For some reason, that abbreviation irritated her. The capitalized ‘D’ next to the lowercase ‘s’, implying that the Dom was above the submissive, better than, superior to, even. Her eyes narrowed furiously at one point as she compared it to the way people like Malfoy treated her because her parents didn’t have magic.

This was abuse! Plain and simple. How could people condone this kind of thing, much less actually participate in it? Horrified, but finding herself strangely unable to stop reading, now that she’d gotten started, and her ire was well and truly riled up, she quickly completed the first book and stormed over to her trunk to pull out another one. She skipped over the second book which was supposedly for the benefit of whatever ‘partner’ she chose (as if that was ever going to happen, she scoffed) and grabbed the largest of the four books before snapping her trunk closed and returning to her bed.

Making herself comfortable she opened the book and began to work her way through it. In a very short period of time, her complexion had turned an even darker shade of red, her blush pronounced on her neck and her upper chest, extending even under the neckline of her shirt. While the book contained plenty of information, it was the accompanying images that truly hit her. 

One of the first she came across was of a naked, well endowed, blond woman. She was lying on her back on a bed that had been stripped to the mattress. Her arms were stretched above her head, her wrists secured by leather cuffs that were attached to a length of chain which stretched out of the shot and toward the upper corners of the bed. Her legs were similarly spread, and her ankles secured with another set of cuffs. Her back was arched, thrusting her breasts out and up, her mouth open wide in what might have been a moan or a scream as a hand, holding a lit candle above her, dripped hot wax across her large breasts. 

In another, a naked brunette stood with her back to the camera, her arms stretched high over her head with the short chain between the leather cuffs at her wrists looped over a hook suspended from the ceiling. A man, fully dressed in black slacks and a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled back to his elbows was in the process of swinging something at the woman. The item was blurred, in the act of swinging through the air, but she assumed it was some kind of flogger, based on the red marks across the woman’s back, buttocks, and the backs of her thighs.

For another hour, Hermione read and studied the photos. By the time she put the books back in her trunk and locked it, she went to bed determined to ignore her flushed and tingling body’s desire for release.

She was not submissive, she firmly told herself. She was not the kind of depraved individual that would engage in or enjoy something like what she’d just read. The only reason she was more aroused than she’d ever felt before in her life was due to her abrupt exposure to what amounted to pornographic material, in her opinion.

Despite what she told herself, it was several frustrated hours of adamant refusal to do what her body demanded of her before she was able to fall into a fitful, restless sleep. 

 

##### 

 

New Year’s Day, Hermione woke to find her body still tingling, or perhaps tingling again if her vague recollections of her dreams were anything to go by. Just before coming fully aware, still hovering on the cusp between asleep and awake, a memory flitted across her mind. A single sentence, spoken in her own voice.

Is that an order, Mister Potter?

Then, her conscious mind asserted itself, and the brief memory faded away.

Letting out a sigh she started to turn onto her back but suddenly froze, her eyes shooting wide open, breath catching in her throat as a jolt of pleasure shot through her body from between her legs.

Taking a moment to take stock of herself she looked down the length of her body, just to confirm what she was feeling and, for several moments, she laid perfectly still trying to think what she could possibly have dreamed to have her waking like this.

She was lying on her right side in the center of her bed, her sheets and blankets apparently kicked to the foot of the bed sometime during the night and her left hand was inside her knickers and between her legs. An experimental curling of her middle finger had a whimpering moan escaping her lips as she confirmed that, yes, her finger was buried deep inside her, at least up to the second knuckle. 

By the time she removed her finger from her pussy and her hand from her knickers she was panting slightly and realized that both hand and knickers were completely soaked. How long had she been playing with herself in her sleep?

With no answers forthcoming she headed quickly for another shower, cleaning up much more rapidly that morning than she had the night before. She dressed in a pair of jeans, a plain green t-shirt over a matching white set of knickers and bra and a dark jumper that she pulled on over the shirt for warmth. Socks and boots followed and she grabbed her bag, heading out of the dorm and down the stairs, passing through the empty Common Room on her way to the Great Hall for an early breakfast. A glance at her watch told her breakfast would be served just about the time that she arrived.

With a light breakfast in front of her, she let her mind wander as she ate, trying to decide what she was going to spend her time on that day, and just the act of trying trying to settle that left her feeling despondent. For a few moments, she entertained the thought that Harry and Ron had ruined her. Before becoming friends with them she could easily spend hours, even days, absorbed in her books with no problems whatsoever. To be fair, she could still do that, but it was nowhere near as fulfilling as it used to be without that simple human interaction breaking up her day.

It was a sobering revelation for her to realize just how much she truly needed their friendship. Well… she felt she might miss Ron as a friend if they could not repair the rift between them, but honestly, the boy tasked her to no end, so it might just be a slight relief not to have that aggravation in her life. The thought of losing Harry from her life, however, had her feeling physically ill and she pushed her half eaten breakfast away, too nauseated to eat another bite. 

That was not going to happen, she decided. She would be patient, but she would repair the damage to their friendship. On that matter, she was absolutely determined. In the meantime, she needed to keep busy, so she stood and made her way to the Library, intent on continuing her research for Hagrid.

Two days later, the rest of the students returned and Hermione wanted to flee the Great Hall early during the Feast when she overheard Ron telling the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, Oliver Wood, that Harry’d received a Firebolt for Christmas, only to have it confiscated because of her. 

What kept her from running was the look on Harry’s face while Ron was busy verbally tearing her down. It was clear that he didn’t exactly agree with the lanky redhead. The expression on his face was decidedly uncomfortable and his body language showed it as well in the way that he subtly moved away from his friend and simply focused his attention on his dinner. That, more than anything, gave her some sense of hope that it wouldn’t be too long before they were back to how they’d been before Christmas.

To Hermione’s great relief, classes resumed the next day and her Time Turner came out from where she’d hidden it in her school trunk. Over the next four days she was far too busy to worry about Harry, Ron, books full of perversions, or anything else, really, but her class notes and homework. 

It wasn’t until the start of the next class week that she’d settled back into her routine enough to start asking questions. Late at night when she sat by herself in the Common Room working on her essays or revising for her classes, her mind started to worry over the problems most immediately facing her. When she woke the next Saturday, she finally decided to list and attempt to confront the issues facing her head on. 

First, she’d promised Harry that she’d find a way to deal with her stress, and she hadn’t come across anything. She honestly couldn’t say she’d even tried, having been so distracted, at first, by those two little words, then by the disturbingly enticing books that were still hidden at the bottom of her trunk after the bout of reading she’d done on New Year’s Eve. 

Second, there was the issue of Missus Markell somehow getting it into her head that she seemed to be the submissive type. What possible reason could the older woman have had to think that? She was an advocate for equal rights! She despised the very idea of people being subservient to others, least of all herself!

Third issue she was facing was the near constant level of arousal she seemed to be feeling. Was this a side effect of the potion Madam Pomfrey had had given her? Every night her dreams were filled with vague images from the second book she’d been reading and whispered words that sent a pleased flush through her body and set her pulse racing. 

Her fourth problem was the estrangement from her friends, and that she wasn’t entirely certain how to fix, yet.

The biggest issues, was that Hermione knew that this state of affairs was unsustainable. She was just as stressed as she had been the night she'd made the promise to Harry. Perhaps even more so as she’d added estranged friends and strange books causing her multiple levels of frustration to her problems. 

The information in the books Missus Markell had given her wasn't going to vanish from her thoughts because she wished it to. And her embarrassing state of arousal was something outside of her conscious control no matter how vexing it was to experience it without relief or explanation. She simply couldn't continue like this forever, something had to give.

 _Okay, Hermione,_  she thought. _Look at this logically. What issues are you facing that you can tackle immediately? Find something you can do something about and just… do it, already._

After a few moments to think she decided that the only thing she could do, right at that moment, was continue reading the books she’d been given. Why she’d want to, she wasn’t sure. But maybe if she understood more, she could think about it less? 

Shrugging, she quietly got out of bed and opened her trunk, carefully moving things out of the way until she could reach the two books she’d already looked at, one completed, the other, perhaps half way.

Once back behind her curtains she opened the book to where she’d left off, leafing through a few pages.

 _Look at this logically, not emotionally. What is the apparent draw to this lifestyle? Why would people put themselves through something like that?_  she thought, staring wide eyed at an image of a woman being whipped. An actual  _whip_!

She shook her head and flipped through a few pages until she reached a section that was titled ‘From the Mouths of Subs’.

Intrigued, she settled in to read. The section appeared to be a series of essays and letters written by subs about exactly what she’d been wondering. Why they do it. She skimmed through four of them before the fifth caught her attention.

_If you were to ask most people that I work with or that knew me in my everyday life if they thought I was submissive, they’d probably laugh and say something along the lines of ‘No way in Hell’ or ‘Have you actually met her?’_

_The reason for this is that, in my early forties as of the time of this writing, I have spent twenty years of my life working my way to a relatively high position in a multinational company. I won’t tell you which one both for their sake, and my own. I am a Department Head at work with thirty-five employees working under me. I sit in on meetings with the C.E.O and assist in negotiating deals with client companies and with rival companies._

_In my life, in my work, in my home, I am NOT submissive. I work for what I have. I earn my place._

_But as you can most likely imagine, such a life is rather filled with many different sources of stress. The business world is still very much largely favored toward men. As a woman, I have to work significantly harder for the same recognition. I decided, long ago, that I could be bitter about that and become a person I likely wouldn’t like if I’d met me. Or, I could find an outlet for my stress. Find a way to let go of the worries and concerns that would bottle up otherwise until I was ready to explode._

_That’s what my Dom does for me._

_He gives me a place where I can simply ‘be’. Where my only worry is pleasing Him. My only concerns are behaving as He wants me to behave. My only thoughts are to follow His direction. In the most simplistic terms, He gives me an order, I carry out that order, He praises me for following His command._

_I have no worries, no concerns, and no stress when I am His plaything to use as He wishes. In the end, I trust him, my Dom, my husband, to give me that freedom of control. He let’s me let go of the many, many choices and decisions that I must make every single day._

_When we started this, I made one choice, and that was to not have to make any more choices when we are in a scene. The choices are His, and I am simply there to play my part._

_But in the end, that’s what it all comes down to. Choice. I CHOOSE to give him control over my behavior, my actions, even my pleasure and my pain. I choose to let Him decide if I have earned the right to cum. I choose to allow Him to punish me if I have earned a punishment. I trust that He will not abuse the gift that I have given Him._

_Also, I know that, at any time, I can choose to end a scene and that he will immediately stop whatever we are doing and I will return to being me, and not his sub at that time. If I really need to I can end it, I simply choose not to._

 

The rest of the letter fell to the wayside as Hermione stared at nothing for some time, her mind whirling as thoughts and memories chased themselves in circles.

_Find some way to relieve your stress, Miss Granger, or I might have to give you detention._

_Yes, Sir._

_Good girl._

“Son of a bitch!” she blurted out, the book falling from her hands to land on the bed and somewhere in the dorm, one of the other girls made a startled sounding noise at her exclamation and rolled over in their bed. She thought it might have been Lavender.

Quickly, she grabbed her wand and cast several silencing charms at her curtains until she was sure that no one would hear her and then scrambled for the book again. She paged back to the beginning, her eyes quickly scanning over the previously read material, but with a different perspective in mind. When she’d read it before, she'd thought of it as something wrong, something disturbing, but the dynamic described made more sense with that unnamed sub’s words resonating in her mind. 

Choice.

It all came down to choice.

Choice and trust, Hermione would say once she’d read her way through more of the material. By the time she caught back up to that letter she put that book aside and picked up the first one she’d read, quickly skimming through it, finishing both sometime after all of her dorm mates had likely left for breakfast. 

She was far too excited to eat, however. She felt she was on the cusp of understanding something, all she needed to do was work through the problem. 

“Okay,” she muttered to herself. “Where exactly did this start?”

It started when Harry had called her a ‘good girl’ and she’d been confused about her reaction to those words.

Frowning, she cocked her head to the side, staring blankly at the curtains that covered the foot of her bed. Something about that didn’t feel right. Reaching for the larger book again, she paged through it to the sub’s letter and rapidly skimmed the words, her eyes stopping on a single line. 

_In the most simplistic terms, He gives me an order, I carry out that order, He praises me for following His command._

“Merlin, I’m an idiot!” 

Without conscious thought, her right hand rose through the air until her palm struck her forehead with a loud ‘SMACK’ and she sat there, hand clutched to her head and her eyes as wide as they could possibly go.

_Find some way to relieve your stress, Miss Granger, or I might have to give you detention._

“Harry gave me an order.”

_Yes, Sir._

“I carried out that order, or agreed to do so, at least.”

_Good girl._

“Then he praised me for following his command.” She shook her head, her bushy mane bouncing wildly with the violent motion. “Dammit, I was looking at my research back home wrong from the beginning. I was only focused on the two words that caused a noticeable reaction, I didn’t even consider that it might have been a series of connected exchanges.”

As she’d read back over all the material, her mind had been on fire. She was so distracted with the excitement of discovery that she’d been unaffected by the images she’d seen, unlike her first time looking through. She picked up the larger volume again and idly started paging through it, ignoring the text to instead focus on the images, looking them over with a fresh eye, and a fresh understanding.

The first woman, the blond getting wax dribbled across her breasts, her facial expression showed pain, yes, but a careful study of the image showed a wet patch on the mattress between her widely spread legs.

Flipping a few pages, she found another image. This one showed a woman on her knees, her arms bound behind her back with rope. Standing in front of her shown from his bare chest  down, was a man. Though the woman’s body blocked most of him, it was evident that his trousers were undone, and he was holding her head tightly, with one hand fisted in her hair, obviously forcing her to…

Hermione shuddered, her cheeks darkening as the ever present arousal she’d felt for weeks, forgotten in her earlier fervor, reared its head again and for a moment, her mind conjured an image of herself in that woman’s position, letting that man use her mouth.

Unbidden, a small moan slipped past her lips before she clamped them shut and turned the page.

Page after page, she tried to imagine herself in the place of the women depicted and before she knew it she was more turned on than ever before. She could feel the damp patch in her knickers growing the longer she sat there.

“Merlin, I can’t think like this,” she moaned and tossed the book aside. In seconds her damp knickers and her shirt joined the book and she was lying back completely naked on top of her blankets. 

Her left hand found her right breast, pinching her nipple between thumb and forefinger and her muscles jerked as a bolt of pleasure ran through her body and seemingly straight to her clit as a loud moan escaped her. 

Her right hand slid between her legs and she marveled for a moment at just how wet she was, her fingers gliding easily through her folds and across that aching bundle of nerves that sent arcs of electricity through every inch of her. Her mind replayed image after image with herself replacing the women in each scene. Bound tightly, crawling along the floor, bent over a black clad males lap as one cupped hand descended toward her bare, reddened arse. 

She didn’t know how long she spent, but she knew it couldn’t have been very long at all before she felt the familiar tightening sensation in her stomach. Incoherent moans poured from her mouth, her head thrown back as her fingers circled her clit over and over. Her body trembled, muscles coiling tightly until she felt like a rubber band, stretched to the breaking point. 

Just a little bit more was all she needed and she suddenly reached lower and plunged one finger deep into her aching pussy. The sudden invasion of that single digit, coupled with her thumb mashed against her clit sent her over the edge and her hand tightened painfully on her breast as a certain raven haired wizard's name erupted from her mouth in a barely coherent scream as she came completely undone, moaning her way through the single most powerful orgasm of her life.

 

##### 

 

Coming out of her thoughts over the past three weeks, she realized that she was feeling cold and she wormed her way under her blankets, still completely naked, but completely uncaring. With her immediate needs taken care of, she realized she had a new problem. 

She might have found a way to deal with her stress, as ordered. A small grin turned up her lips when she considered that this probably had been one of the furthest things from his thoughts when Harry’d given her that particular command. He was just trying to help her.

Anyway, she  _might_  have a way to deal with her stress. But she didn’t know, for sure. After how she’d just reacted, and with her new view on the subject, she could admit that, perhaps, Missus Markell may have pegged her correctly. She just might have a submissive streak in her. 

There was, however, really only one way she could test this theory, and there was only one person in the world she could possibly look in the eye and ask them to help. It was all his fault, so he should be the one to help her with this, and besides, if there was anyone she could trust not to abuse this situation, it was Harry Potter.


	4. What Have You Gotten Yourself Into, Potter?

Two Little Words

by,

Rtnwriter

 

Four weeks.

Harry Potter sighed as he floated lazily through the air on a borrowed Cleansweep Seven after the latest Quidditch practice, as opposed to dealing with one of the old and decrepit school brooms. It had been four weeks since Christmas and five weeks since Hermione left on the train to go home for the holidays. 

She hadn’t even looked at him that morning, and he could admit that had hurt him. He could also admit, that he missed her.

Not for her help with homework, as Ron as starting to, though there had been times in the past that her help had been invaluable. No, he missed her simply for her presence. Her solid loyalty and dependability. He missed the way she seemed to be able to offer support and encouragement, all without ever saying a word. 

And he  _really_  missed her hugs. 

Harry was more than smart enough, and aware enough, to realize that he had more than a few issues as a result of his upbringing. He didn’t like it when people touched him, for one thing. So few times in his life had the touch of another person meant anything other than pain that it was difficult to understand that someone wanted to touch him for comfort, or simply to express their friendship in a physical way.

When Hermione hugged him, just before he’d stepped through that wall of black fire at the end of their first year, it was literally the first time that he could  _ever_  remember anyone actually hugging him. For some reason, his bushy-haired, beautiful best friend never caused the feelings that had him typically keeping his distance from others. Instead, she inspired an entirely different set of feelings. Feelings that he simultaneously found himself craving, even as they terrified him. 

He wasn’t quite certain what to do with the feelings that being near her created. All he knew was that he missed her, and he wanted her back. Which made everything more confusing, in light of the hurt he felt over her actions. 

Frowning, he did a few loops on the broom, nowhere near as fast as his poor Nimbus could have done, but it was still a cathartic release for him to be in the air, away from the ground and all of his troubles. 

Of course, eventually, he had to come back down to the ground and he did so just as the sun was beginning to set, plunging the grounds into a darkness lit only by way of candles and torchlight. He dropped into a dive, straightening out five feet above the ground and landed near the Gryffindor stands, easily dismounting the broom and slinging it over one shoulder to carry with him to the equipment shed where the team brooms were kept. 

After dropping it off he changed out of his uniform, showered, and dressed in his warmest clothes before he left the locker rooms and started up toward the castle, head down, hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets. 

He hadn’t made it fifteen feet up the path when a sudden voice startled him.

“Harry?”

He was surprised enough that he jumped and spun around, already drawing his wand from where he kept it in his pocket before his brain caught up to his actions and he realized that he recognized the voice.

“Hermione?” he blurted out as she stepped out onto the path from where she’d been hidden within the deep shadows cast by the stands. “Merlin’s pants, Hermione, you scared me half to death! What’re you doing sneaking up on me like that?”

She winced, and he realized that his question might have come off a bit harsh, but he made no move to apologize and simply waited for her response.

“I’m sorry,” she said, taking a step closer to him. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but I need to talk to you, Harry. Please.”

He hid a wince of his own with the ease of long practice, though he couldn't hide the look of hurt and anger that flashed across his face. She took another step toward him, her eyes bright in the torchlight, and reached out to place one hand on his arm.

“Please. We’ve been best friends for more than two years. You know I would never do anything to hurt you on purpose. Please, just give me a chance to explain and apologize before… before you shut me out, completely.”

He couldn’t stop the wince that time as she paraphrased his own words back at him, Intentionally, he was sure. But damn if it didn’t work. The hard set to his jaw softened as he took in the open pain on her face and he sighed. 

“Fine,” he said, and crossed his arms over his chest, looking at her expectantly.

“Really?” she blurted out, surprised and thrilled, based on her reaction, and he nodded silently.

“You have to admit that it is possible that Black could have sent you that broom,” she said, jumping quickly into her explanation. “In our first year Quirrell tried to get you thrown off your broom in your very first match. Second year, Dobby’s bludger almost killed you. And this year…” She paused, tears glinting in her eyes and he started to feel more than a bit like a heel for how he’d been treating her. “This year I stood in the stands and watched you fall at least three-hundred feet. And I didn’t do a damn thing to help you!”

 _Holy shit_ , he thought as his eyebrows climbed toward his hairline in surprise.  _Hermione Granger just cursed… sort of._

“I thought you were dead, Harry. I said it weeks ago, you’re the most important person in my world, aside from my parents, and I was sure that you were dead.” By that time her head was lowered and she’d wrapped her arms around her body, as if trying to hold herself together by sheer physical force and without any conscious thought on his part, he closed the last of the distance between them and pulled her body against his.

A relieved sounding sob escaped her, her arms moving to wrap tightly around him as she buried her face against his shoulder, her body shaking with suppressed sobs. It took her a few minutes to gather herself, to keep speaking, and when she did she didn’t bother to lift her head from his shoulder, merely turning her face so that he would be able to hear her clearly.

“I was so relieved, when the Headmaster was able to save you,” she muttered. “But I’ve just been so scared ever since, with everything that always seems to happen to you… I saw that broom and I just saw one more thing trying to take you from me and I… I just reacted… I guess.”

While she talked, Harry’s mind cast back to the days the previous year that he’d spent sitting beside her petrified form in the Hospital Wing, and how scared he’d felt for her. He couldn’t help but understand, at least a little, how she must have felt in that moment. Her petrification had affected him in ways he hadn’t imagined before. When he’d gone down into the Chamber, he hadn’t gone to rescue Ginny. Oh, he wanted to save the girl, of course, his friends little sister. But his main desire, had been motivated more by revenge than anything else. Something had attacked his… his best friend, and he had been bound and determined to pay it back in kind.

If Hermione was ever hurt, or in danger, he honestly didn’t think that there was much that he  _wouldn’t_ do to save her or protect her, even if she hated him for it, he realized.

“Why didn’t you just talk to me?” he asked, finally coming out of his thoughts and back to the discussion at hand and she drew back in his arms to look at him with an expression on her face that clearly said she was wondering if he was an idiot.

“I did talk to you,” she told him and after a few seconds of thought he sighed and shook his head.

“No. You tried to talk to me and Ron,” he said, ruefully and a moment later he had to chuckle at the shocked look on her face. “I’m not a complete idiot, Hermione,” he said in a lightly teasing tone. “I do get that Ron and I can sometimes bring out the worst in each other.”

“So, in the future, talk to you alone, if at all possible?” she asked and he grinned and nodded his head. A moment later, his grin faded and he gave her a quick squeeze before he stepped back, deciding that he needed just a bit of space between them before they continued. 

“I’m sorry I got the broom confiscated,” she said. “I was just worried about you.”

Harry bit back the urge to sigh again and raked one hand back through his hair in an unconscious, nervous gesture that he’d had for as long as he could remember. It would take some explanation before she would understand what his real issue with the whole thing had been, he realized. Explanation that he really didn’t want to give. But this was Hermione, his best friend, he couldn’t leave her with the wrong impression of why he’d been upset.

“I don’t care, really, about the broom being confiscated,” he admitted. “Not entirely… I mean, I’ve never owned anything that valuable before. But it’s not about how much it cost so much as…” He blew out the sigh he’d held back before, frowning irritably. “Crap, I’m not saying this very well,” he growled when he realized that he was rambling disjointedly instead of properly explaining how he felt.

“Why not just take a breath, and try again. I’ll ask questions if I need to until you can get it all out?” she offered and he nodded, absently, and did just that.

Why was this so damn difficult? He wondered, annoyed with himself and his sudden lack of facility with the English language.

“Do you know what the first gift I remember receiving was?” he asked, not looking in her direction. A second later, he kept talking without waiting for her to try to respond. “Hedwig. Hagrid bought her for me for my eleventh birthday. First year, my relatives sent me a fifty-pence piece for Christmas. I’m pretty sure they only did that because they knew I couldn’t actually spend it, here. It was just to taunt me.

“All of my clothes, aside from my school uniforms used to belong to my fat whale of a cousin. My glasses? My Aunt got them from a second hand bin, they’re probably not even the right prescription. They always told me I wasn’t worth having anything of my own. I wasn’t worth anyone spending money on me. I’m not a particularly materialistic person, but… that broom just… it kind of felt like someone thought I was worth spending that kind of money on. It felt nice to think that there was someone that thought I was worth…” He shrugged, idly digging the toe of his ratty, tattered trainer into the dirt.

“If you’d talked to me about it, I would probably have agreed with you, and we could have gone to Professor McGonagall, together. But you went behind my back, and all I could think was that you felt I wasn’t worth it either. I didn’t deserve it-”

He suddenly grunted and staggered back several steps as a sobbing fourteen-year-old witch slammed into his midsection, latching onto him like a limpet.

“I w-would never th-think s-something like that,” she stuttered brokenly, clinging tightly to him.

Harry couldn’t really think of anything to say, so he kept silent and just hugged her back until she stopped crying and pulled back enough that she could look up at him with her red rimmed cinnamon colored eyes and he gently wiped a few tears from her cheeks.

“I must look a fright,” she muttered, and backed away to dig out her handkerchief from one of her robe’s pockets. 

“You look beautiful,” he disagreed, the words leaving his mouth before he even thought to try and hold them back and her cheeks slowly flushed a soft red in the dim light.

Mentally cursing himself for not keeping his big mouth shut, he awkwardly cleared his throat and gestured up toward the castle.

“We should get going,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t question what he’d said as he really didn’t think he could give her a satisfactory answer to whatever she might ask. “It’s cold out here, and I’m sick of being near those dementors.”

She nodded, smiling brightly as she put away her handkerchief and hooked her arm through his.

“Didn’t you say something about getting lessons on fighting them?” she asked as they walked slowly toward the castle.

“Yeah. Professor Lupin has been working on teaching me the Patronus Charm. Only had two lessons with him so far but I haven’t managed much beyond a light mist.”

“From what I’ve read, that’s a really difficult charm. The fact that you’ve managed that much is pretty impressive, Harry,” she pointed out and he shrugged.

“That’s what the Professor said, too. But it doesn’t really do me a lot of good if I can’t keep them away from me next time they decide I might make a decent snack.” He felt her stiffen against him and he grimaced, his face twisting into a pained expression. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“That’s okay… just, please don’t talk about dying so… so casually. You know, there are people that would really miss you if you weren’t around anymore.”

“I’ll try,” he promised and she squeezed his arm where she still held it looped with hers. 

They fell into a comfortable silence while the covered the last of the distance leading into the entrance hall and Harry hadn’t felt so content since the day before Hermione’d left for the holidays when he’d finally gotten out of her what was causing her so much stress. He’d been beyond happy that she’d opened up to him, let him in on the secret of the Time Turner. The trust she showed him at times made him feel humble. After so long being told how worthless he was, it was difficult to imagine someone actually valuing him and his opinions. 

He turned, starting for the Grand Staircase when a sudden tug on his arm brought him up short and he turned a confused look to the girl holding his arm.

She was fidgeting in place, her eyes directed at the ground for a moment before she finally looked at him, staring up through her eyelashes.

“I can’t go to the Common Room,” she said, quietly. “Not for another…” she glanced at her watch, “twenty-five minutes or so.”

“Huh? Why not?” he asked, his confusion growing and she gave him a small grin before she reached up and pulled the chain for the Time Turner out of the neck of her robes, just enough for him to see it, before she let it fall back under her clothes. 

“I’m currently sitting at one of the tables working on our Charms essay. I turned back two hours so that I could wait at the pitch for you after practice. I could see you from the tower window after the rest of the team had left and I wanted to make sure I got you alone, finally.”

Harry blinked in surprise for a moment before a sly grin stole over his lips.

“It looks like I’ve been a bad influence on you, Miss Granger,” he said. “Breaking the rules for personal gain like that…”

He laughed when she scowled at him and swatted his shoulder with her free hand.

“Well, what should we do until it’s safe for you to go back to the Tower?” he asked after he got his laughter under control and noticed that she immediately became nervous and fidgety again.

“Well… I did have something else I needed to talk to you about,” she admitted, slowly. “I didn’t want to ask you today, though. I didn’t want it to look like I only made up with you so I could ask you for a favor.”

“You can always ask me anything, Hermione, you know that,” he assured her, curious as to what she could possibly have to ask that had her looking so nervous.

“Don’t say things like that, Harry. Not until you know what you’re agreeing to.”

She looked around, her hair swinging wildly and he leaned slightly to the side to avoid having it slap him in the face as she turned back.

“Look, let’s find an empty classroom, first. I really don’t want to discuss this out here in the entrance hall,” she said and he nodded, leading her up the stairs and down a few corridors to where he knew there was an empty room that he’d previously cleaned of most of the dust and cobwebs.

By the time they entered the room, Hermione seemed even more nervous than she’d been before and he was really starting to worry. Just what could be so bad? He wondered.

With the door shut behind them she cast several silencing charms at it and then lead him to the front of the room where she sank into one of the student desks, her hands resting on the flat surface, fingers twisting together and he leaned back against the teachers desk, his arms crossed over his chest again as he waited for her to speak. 

When she said nothing for several minutes he gently prompted her. “Hermione?”

She jumped in her seat, her eyes darting from where they’d been fixed on her hands to look into his eyes for a moment before she looked away again and took a deep breath, sitting up as straight as she could and looked him directly in the eye.

“I might have found something, Sir,” she said. “As ordered.”

His mouth dropped open, blinking several times in surprise before he found his voice.

“Something? What? Sir? … huh?” he managed before he cut off at the sound of her bursting into a fit of giggling.

Hermione Granger was giggling, like a girl? He shook his head, sure that he’d seen everything, now. Of course, he was well aware that Hermione  _was_  a girl, she just didn’t tend to act giggly and such, like some girls did. Lavender and Parvati came immediately to mind.

“You ordered me to find something to help relieve the stress from my class load,” she reminded him, grinning impishly for a moment. “Well… I think I might have found something that could help. I’m not certain but…” She trailed off and shrugged helplessly.

“That’s great,” he gushed, smiling happily. “What’s the problem, though? Why aren’t you sure?”

Slowly, her face turned a brilliant red and he found himself feeling even more flummoxed than he’d been a few moments before at her surprising reaction. She cleared her throat and he nearly jumped in surprise at the sudden sound.

“Well… it’s… it’s definitely outside of the norm,” she said. “There are a few issues with it, actually. First… I’m not entirely certain it’s what I’m looking for, really. I have some evidence that it might be, but it’s not something I can know until I try. I’ve been… I was given some information that I started looking at on Christmas Day and since then I’ve rather… rather tentatively decided that it just might apply to me. The second problem is that I can’t just try it to find out if this idea will actually help me.”

“Why not?”

Her flush deepened and he could clearly see the color spreading down her neck and, idly, the thought occurred to him that he’d never seen her look more beautiful.

“Well, it’s not something I can really do alone. It… it requires that I have a partner,” she almost whispered, her eyes dropping back to her hands where they were twisted together on the desk.

“A partner?” He frowned for a moment, wondering why that was such a difficult thing when he remembered that Hermione didn’t really spend much time with anyone other than him and Ron. “Well I’d be happy to try to help, and Ron would too, I'm sure, once we get him over the whole broom thing-”

“No!” she burst out, and that time he really did jump, startled by her vehement exclamation. “No,” she repeated, quieter. “Ronald is absolutely not an option. This…” She let out a nervous laugh. “This requires a rather high level of trust and there’s really only one person in the world that I trust enough to even bring this idea to, much less actually ask for help.”

“Well, who is it?” he asked, hiding a hurt expression that she wouldn’t ask him for help. It was his idea that she find some way to deal with her stress. He’d be happy to help her, if he could.

Hermione was silent for nearly a minute, her knuckles white she was clasping her hands together so tightly.

“Are we friends, again?” she asked suddenly in a small, timid voice that did not fit the girl that he knew.

“We were always friends, Hermione,” he promised her. “I was just upset, but I never stopped being your friend, not really. I’ve… I’ve really missed you, these last few weeks. It’s just not the same around here, without you.”

A bright smile lit her face and her shoulders trembled visibly as she let out a shaky sigh. 

“A part of me wanted to point out that this is all your fault, you know,” she said, giving him another soft smile. “You told me to find something, so you should be the one to help me. But, I don’t want you thinking that way at all. I don’t  _want_  you helping me, unless  _you_  actually want to, and not out of a sense of obligation.”

She stood and moved closer to him, pulling a shrunken book from her pocket that she restored to its original size with a tap of her wand. Coming to a stop in front of him she held the book in both hands, but didn’t offer it to him. 

“You are, literally, the only person in the world I would trust with this, Harry,” she whispered, her eyes locked on his chest instead of looking at his face. “But… I need you to promise me. Promise me that… if you don’t want to help me, if you’re disgusted or bothered by this whole idea, you won’t stop being my friend. I can’t… I can’t do this without you. Going to school here, dealing with all these people that don’t care for me. I need you to still be my friend at the end of the day, or I won’t be able to put up with it.”

“Hermione, short of murdering people for sport, I don’t think there’s much you could do that would make me stop being your friend. You’re the most important person in my world, too, you know,” he said, carefully, fully aware that she seemed to be hanging on the edge of something precarious. Any negative reaction from him right now would be disastrous, and he wouldn’t know what to do, or how to help her, until she gave him some more information.

 _The stupid hat wanted to put you in Slytherin,_  he thought. _This is the time to act like you could have done well there. Don’t act without thinking, like you usually do._

Wordlessly she held the book out to him and he carefully took it from her, glancing down at the slim volume’s grey cover to read the title. ‘The Culture and Economics of Ancient Mesopotamia’.

“I charmed the cover to show something different,” she explained at his dumbfounded expression. “This book… you can’t let anyone see this, Harry. It’s not… it’s not anything bad, not really, though it is very misunderstood, and I’m really not sure how wizards and witches might view it. It would, at the very minimum, be extremely embarrassing if anyone found out that I had something like this.”

“I promise.”

She nodded, giving him a slightly shaky smile.

“I need you to read this, for me. Read the whole thing. After you do that, come find me, and we’ll discuss it.”

Without waiting for a response she leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before she turned and practically fled the room, vanishing out into the hall in the briefest of moments. 

Completely bewildered by her behavior he looked down at the book and opened the front cover, his eyes growing wide as they finally landed on the book’s real title.

‘The Philosophy of Dominance and Submission’

Beneath the title was a picture of a man dressed in black boots, trousers, and dress shirt, sitting in a wooden, straight backed chair. Kneeling on the ground next to his right knee was a clearly naked woman, shown in profile, her arms cuffed behind her back with her head resting on the man’s right thigh, his hand resting on her hair, as if he was petting her.

“Oooohh… what the hell have you gotten yourself into, this time, Potter?” he muttered.

 

##### 

 

Hermione frowned at the parchment in front of her, not really seeing the runic array she was supposed to be translating. Somehow, this whole concept of finding a way to help her deal with her stress was actually causing her more stress than she’d been under when just dealing with her extra heavy class load. On the plus side, in the two days since she’d made up with Harry they’d managed to get Ron on board as well, so she had her friends back, and that was one piece of worry that was no longer in her life. 

Of course, in those two days, Harry had managed to behave as if almost nothing at all had changed between them. Aside from a few strange looks he’d given her that first night when he had come back to the Common Room with no sign of the book she’d given him, there’d been nothing. 

They attended the classes that they had together. They ate their meals together, again, something she was extremely grateful for as she hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed the steady presence of her two friends. Even with Ron’s terrible table manners, she wasn’t nearly as upset by it as she used to be. (Though that didn’t stop her from correcting him whenever he tried to speak with his mouth stuffed like a chipmunk’s)

But this nerve wracking waiting for Harry to react, in some way, to the book, was really starting to get to her. She hadn’t once seen him with it. Hadn’t seen it since she left him in that empty classroom. Really, she reasoned, she shouldn’t have just left him there, but she had been so embarrassed and so nervous about his reaction that she hadn’t been able to make herself stay. Plus, she really did want him to get through the whole book before they discussed it. That particular volume had been highly informative in ways the other three had not. It was also centered more toward the understanding of the Dom and would give Harry a much better grounding in what could be expected of him, should he choose to help her.

Her mind started to drift, Ron’s voice, droning on about Quidditch from where he sat in a seat to her right, receded into background noise as she lost herself in a brief daydream. Harry stood before her, calm and confident and the look on his face sent a shiver through her body. As much as she might profess to still being a little unsure of her submissive streak, she was sure that he was the only person that could likely get her to submit to him. The trust and respect she had for him… she could far more easily imagine doing almost anything he demanded of her where with anyone else, she would balk.

The morning after giving Harry the book she’d lain in bed, hands dancing across her body as she replayed a dream she’d had of Harry completely dominating her. Her sleeping mind had conjured one graphic image after another of her, performing various degrading and dehumanizing activities, all of them at Harry’s strict command. Some of them she’d read about in the three books she still had, and at the time, she’d thought them disgusting, or something she’d be extremely unlikely to willingly do. But in her dream, she’d been so willing, eager, and had even enjoyed something that she couldn’t imagine viewing as anything other than sickening. When she woke, she had been so wet that the sheet under her had a darkened patch from the leaking evidence of her arousal. 

The thing that bothered her was that she wasn’t certain if her extreme arousal had been a result of the idea of being controlled by Harry, or if it had been a reaction to the debasement she’d been willingly subjected to during her dream. And she wouldn’t be able to find out, if she even had the courage to try, unless Harry agreed to what she wanted.

“You okay, Hermione?”

Blinking in surprise as she was drawn from her thoughts, again, she turned her head to look at Ron, who was staring at her with some small measure of concern in his expression.

“What?” she asked, once she found that she was completely unable to conjure up any memory of what he might have said.

“I asked if you were okay,” he repeated himself. “You’ve been sitting there for ten minutes, just staring into space and frowning.”

“Oh…” She shook her head and looked back down at her parchment again. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was just thinking about this array here and I guess I got distracted.”

Ron’s concerned expression lessened, but didn’t go away entirely. He’d been the most vocal, earlier in the year at her, seemingly, impossible class schedule, and though Harry had since stopped bringing it up, their redheaded friend still questioned what was going on. 

“Maybe you should take a break?” he suggested and a moment later his jaw dropped open when she sighed and nodded her head.

“Maybe you’re right,” she said as she started packing her books and supplies together. “I think I’m going to take a walk. Let Harry know, if you see him?” she asked the last after she’d packed her bag and slung the strap over one shoulder, glancing at him with a single arched brow until he nodded, a dumbfounded expression still etched on his freckled face.

With a wave over her shoulder, she left the Library and made her way back to the Tower where she dropped off her bag on her bed and then went back out, slowly meandering her way through the halls toward the first floor, her thoughts far away from where her body was physically located. 

She was passing through a corridor on the first floor when she nearly let out a shriek as a hand suddenly grabbed her arm and she felt herself being pulled down the hall and around a corner. Only the fact that she couldn’t see the person that had grabbed her stopped her from immediately screaming her head off.

“Harry?” she gasped out and then fell silent when a sharp shushing sound echoed from the air in front of her. 

Obediently, she kept her peace, walking quickly to keep up with the force of the pull on her arm until they reached a familiar door. The handle turned, seemingly by itself, and the door was thrown open in complete silence as the hand pulled her through the door which then swung shut behind her. A loud click echoed through the empty classroom where she’d talked to Harry the other day as the door locked and then Harry was there, throwing off his father’s invisibility cloak as he cast a solid dozen silencing charms at the door, windows, and the floor, walls, and ceiling.

With that done, he stowed his wand in his pocket, tucked a familiar looking, tattered piece of parchment inside his robes and then rounded on her, his eyes blazing brightly.

“Is this some kind of joke?” he demanded. “Seriously. Is this a prank? Your idea of getting back at me for being an idiot over the broom?”

“What?” she exclaimed. “No, of course not, Harry.”

“Are you sure? Because that’s the only way I can see any of this making any kind of sense at all. There’s no way the Hermione I know would even consider something like this!”

“The Hermione you know is a neurotic basket case who is so stressed she's losing her damned mind!” she snapped back, rocking him back on his heels with the force of her shout. “You said it yourself. I can’t keep going on like this, Harry. I need help. I need  _your_  help.”

Harry slowly sank into one of the empty seats, staring at her as if seeing her for the first time.

“But… but this is… Hermione there has got to be something else. How can you…” He trailed off, his jaw working soundlessly a couple times before snapping shut with an audible click and he let out a long sigh, propping his elbows on the desk in front of him as he dropped his head into his hands. “I don’t understand,” he finally said in a much calmer tone. “Please. Can you help me understand? I don’t know what you want here, Hermione. I don’t know how I can help you with this.”

Okay, that was not quite the reaction she might have expected from him. Probably not too far off what she expected, but still, different. 

“Did you read the book?” she asked and he shot her a glare.

“Of course I read the book,” he said. “Why do you think I’m in such a state?”

“And?” she prodded, her stomach twisting into knots while she waited for the negative response.

“And what?” he asked. “Just reading that book doesn’t tell me much of anything except you want my help, but not how you think I can help. There’s two parts to play, but I don’t know who you think would play which role.”

This was the moment of truth, she realized, to say aloud what she’d only thought for the last couple of weeks. Taking a deep breath and doing her best to steady her nerves, she looked her friend directly in his expressive green eyes and said, as calmly as she could, “Harry, I want you to help me forget the stress and worries I’ve put on myself by agreeing to… sessions, where you will control me and my actions. I want… I think I want to submit myself to your control-”

“You  _think_ ,” he said, cutting her off. “You don’t  _know_. How could you even consider something like this if you don’t know? How could you think that I could do something like this with you?” he demanded, shooting to his feet and taking two quick, almost angry, strides toward her.

She tried to mask the hurt she felt and focused on answering him, instead.

“Well, I know I’m not particularly pretty, but I would hope you don’t find me repulsive, at least,” she muttered, looking down at the floor.

“W-what?” he stammered. “Hermione, I told you just the other day that you’re beautiful, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“Well… I figured… you were just so insistent that you couldn’t understand how I thought you could do this with me…” tears prickled at her eyes and she fought them back. “I guess you’d prefer someone better looking but-”

“Your looks have nothing to do with anything, Hermione!”

“I’m not an idiot, Harry!” she shot back, lifting her head to glare at him. “I’m a buck toothed, bushy-haired, insufferable, know-it-all. I know there’s prettier girls at this school and-”

She was cut off, abruptly, when he stormed up to her, wrapped his arms tightly around her body, and suddenly his mouth was crashing against hers. For a moment, her eyes went wide in shock, then slowly fluttered closed as the seconds ticked by. Her hands clutched at his shoulders as his right hand moved up her back, tangling in her hair just at the base of her skull, holding her head still as he kissed her. 

As kisses went, it was rough, it was a little awkward, and neither of them really did much, inexperienced as they both were. But in the moment, Hermione didn’t care in the slightest, as, for the first time in she didn’t know how long, her brain simply shut down. Every thought seemed to flee from her mind leaving blissful silence and physical sensation behind to fill the void.

Then, he was pulling away from her and her eyes slowly opened to see a flushed, contrite expression on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, slowly untangling his fingers from her hair as he stepped back from her. “I shouldn’t have just done that. I… I’m sorry…”

For several moments, she couldn’t respond to him as her overloaded mind slowly kicked back into gear. She realized that she felt flushed. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her breath coming fast and hard and she was reasonably certain that she was in the process of soaking through her knickers, again, right there in front of him.

Her flush suddenly darkened considerably as that particular realization kicked into sharp relief.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I-I… I didn’t mind at all.”

They stood there, awkwardly, for several moments before Hermione took a deep breath and cleared her throat.

“Ca-can we… can we just sit, and talk, calmly?” she asked, gesturing to the empty chairs that took up a third of the space in the room. “Please?”

Harry nodded, refusing to look at her and made his way over to sit in the same chair he’d dropped into earlier as Hermione moved to take a seat next to him, turning the chair so that she was facing him.

“I just don't like it,” he muttered. “It just… it all just reminds me too much of....”

“The Dursleys."

Harry jerked, just before sitting, and his head snapped around toward her, his stare suddenly focused and intent and she couldn't hold back a grimace as her mind caught up to her mouth and she realized what exactly she'd just let slip.

One thing was for certain, she knew. No matter how the rest of this discussion went, whether Harry would agree to help her or not, the relationship that they shared, had just been changed, irrevocably. 

 

##### 

 

Two different streams of thought ran through Harry's head as he slowly took his seat, his gaze fixed wholly on his best friend, a beautiful girl that he could privately admit to harboring more than simply friendly feelings toward. 

_Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. How could you just kiss her like that you bloody moron! She's likely going to hate you now._

The words echoed in the back of his mind, anxious terror warring with glee over the fact that he'd finally kissed her! 

Drowning out that mixture of anxious anticipation and elation, however, was a far more pressing concern. 

_Fuck! She knows! How does she know? How much does she know? What does she really know, and what do I do about it?_

It was his turn to clear his throat, trying to move the lump that he could suddenly feel lodged there, before he was sure he could speak clearly.

“What was that about the Dursleys?” he asked, privately thrilled that he hadn’t stuttered at all.

Hermione shifted nervously in her seat, her eyes directed at the surface of the desk in front of her.

“I could hear you,” she whispered, so quietly that he almost didn’t hear her from the distance of only a few feet away.

“What do you mean?”

“When I was petrified, last year,” she said, her voice stronger but her eyes still kept down. I could hear you when you’d come in and talk to me. It was… it was terrifying, being frozen like that. I couldn’t move or see or feel or even smell anything, but I was still awake, I was still aware, trapped inside my own body and I could hear what was going on around me. I’m pretty sure I would have gone mad if it hadn’t been for you coming by and spending so much time talking to me. 

“Your voice kept me sane. You told me about our classes and what was going on in the school. How some people had decided you couldn’t have been the Heir since I was attacked and it was well known how close of friends we are. But… well, I guess you ran out of things to say about classes and school. Mostly late at night, when you would sneak back into the Hospital Wing, you’d talk about your life, growing up. How your aunt and uncle and your cousin treated you. I know what they did wasn’t too physical, but the emotional abuse and the neglect. I know about all of it.”

Harry said nothing for some time. He merely sat there, still as a statue, staring at her with the most intense expression she’d ever seen on his face before for the few seconds that she dared to look up at him before her eyes darted away again. Finally he let out a long sigh and seemed to deflate, hunching down in his seat like a house of cards, collapsing in on itself.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked. “Why didn’t you tell me, after you woke up?”

She shrugged, self-consciously. “It just… it seemed like such a personal, private thing. I mean… Harry, you’ve never talked about your home life. Other than the other day when you said how they told you you weren’t worth anything, you’ve always been very silent about it. I just… I thought you might be upset, or embarrassed if you knew I could hear you. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable… so, I decided it was just a secret I would have to keep, for you. I knew something so personal about you, but I wasn’t going to tell anyone, or talk about it with you, unless you brought it up first.”

He was nodding his head thoughtfully as she spoke and decided she had a point by the time she was finished. “When I was sitting there, talking to you… I don’t know. I guess I almost hoped you could hear me?” He shrugged, picking at the surface of the desk in front of him with his thumbnail. “I’ve never talked about it before, and with you petrified… I guess it was easier to talk to you when I didn’t have to worry about how you’d react. If I saw any pity I don’t think I could have handled that.”

“It’s not pity to be sad for someone you care about that’s had a hard time of things,” she pointed out and he shrugged again.

“Well, I’ll admit I certainly felt better after saying it all out loud, finally. And… I guess I’m glad that you know. Actually… that should make this a lot easier to explain,” he said, suddenly sitting up straighter in his seat again, his shoulders back and his head high, chin level with the ground. As he moved, she instinctively looked up at him, her breath catching slightly in her throat. 

Reaching into his robes, he pulled out the book she’d given him and set it gently on the desk in front of him, resting his left hand flat on the cover.

“Do you understand why I might have a problem with something like this?” he asked, softly. “This… this is abusive, Hermione. Controlling people? Punishing someone for speaking out of turn or not following an order properly? Some of these punishments are just barbaric, too. Why would… why would you possibly think that you could actually want something like this? And with what you know about my home life, how could you think I would be capable of treating you like  _that_? You, of all people?”

He watched as she chewed on her bottom lip for a few moments, thinking carefully before she responded and he tried, very hard, to push away the memory of how her lips had felt when he’d kissed her.

“Let me take those in reverse,” she finally said. “Why do I think you could do it? Because there’s a distinct difference between what happened to you, and what I’m asking you to… to do to me,” she hesitated a moment near the end, her face flushing a bright red as she looked down again before her eyes darted back up, as if she was forcing herself to meet his gaze. “That’s something else to address in a moment,” she muttered, almost absently. “Anyway, the difference is choice, Harry. You didn’t have a choice in what happened. You couldn’t stop or avoid how you were treated and the reason they treated you that way was to hurt you, to break you down. 

“In this case I’m asking you, I… I really do think I want you to do this, with me, and… to me. It’s my choice to give you that control. It’s my decision to let you do what you want to me.”

Harry was pretty sure that his face was as red as hers and he suddenly chuckled as a ludicrous thought popped into his head, causing her to give him a strange look which he tried to wave away.

“Just a silly thought. I’ll make you a bet, first one of us to spontaneously combust from embarrassment loses,” he chortled and his grin slowly grew into a wide smile as she gaped at him for a moment before she burst out giggling again.

“Stop it, Harry,” she attempted to admonish him, but it would have worked better if she hadn’t been smiling. “This is a serious discussion and it’s going to be difficult enough as it is.”

Eventually, they had themselves under enough control for Hermione to continue. 

“Like I was saying, the difference is choice, and I  _choose_  you. I trust you not to abuse the control I would voluntarily give to you. But don’t think that I give you control and just stop having any choice at all.” 

Harry frowned at that. “But isn’t that kind of the point? You say I could do what I want to you. Doesn’t that mean you don’t have a choice?”

“Harry if you decided to do something, and if I asked you to stop, would you ignore me and just keep doing whatever it was you wanted?” she asked him, patiently.

He shook his head, 

sharply. “No!” he blurted out then suddenly paused, understanding clicking into place. “Oh… I think I get it. That’s why you need someone you trust. So… even though you’ve given over that control to someone else, they still need to stop whatever if you really want it to stop.”

“And there’s no one I would trust more than you,” she added, nodding her head.

He considered that carefully for a moment longer before pointing out, what he saw, as another flaw in her argument. “But you keep saying you ‘think’ you want to. You don’t know for sure. How can you even consider something like this without knowing?”

“Well… I’ve got a few ideas that tell me I might be more submissive than I thought I was,” she admitted, then smiled when he made a scoffing sound. “Being submissive doesn’t mean letting just anyone control you,” she said. “If I am, really, only someone I trusted and respected could ever get me to submit to them in that way.”

Harry was reasonably certain his face was going to be red for the rest of the day. The book had given some rather explicit examples of submission, and without his conscious will, he couldn’t help but picture Hermione in a few of those situations, but suddenly, in his head, she was doing them at his command and he had to resist the sudden urge to shift in his seat as his slacks became distinctly uncomfortable.

“Again, you don’t know if you are,” he pointed out, attempting to distract himself.

“And I can’t know, not absolutely for certain, without trying. I can imagine and I can think about it all day, if I wanted. But without experiencing it, I can’t know for certain. Though…” She trailed off, the light blush that had been staining her cheeks suddenly darkening considerably and he found himself intensely curious to know just what had caused that reaction. “I think I can honestly say that… with you… with you I could. And I believe I’d enjoy it, a lot.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Oh,  _Harry!_ ” she blurted out, suddenly burying her face in her hands. “It’s embarrassing,” she muttered, her voice muffled but still understandable. 

“Well, I’m sorry,” he said, in a fairly stern tone. “I don’t want to embarrass you, but if you think you’re going to convince me that this is something you really want then you need to be honest with me. Right now, Hermione.”

Hermione suddenly froze in her seat, her entire body going stock still for a moment before a visible shudder passed through her and she let out a long, shaky breath that had Harry arching one brow, curiously, at her reaction.

“It’s because of things like  _that_ ,” she finally burst out, sitting up to look at him, her face still red and she her breathing was a little heavier. “Dammit, Harry, you just did it, and you have no idea how hot that was. You were just… commanding, right now. And after you kissed me earlier, holding me and physically controlling me the way you did, my knickers are practically soaked through already! I’ve had weeks of thinking about this and picturing what it’d be like to let someone control me and I get so completely wet when it’s you doing that controlling in my head. I moan your name when I’m touching myself in bed at night and I can’t stop dreaming about you-” She cut off suddenly, her eyes going wide and both her hands came up to slap over her mouth for a moment.

“Oh, fuck!” she squeaked out from behind her hands. “Did I actually just say all that out loud?”

Wide eyed himself, and completely silent, Harry could only nod his head, finally giving into the urge to shift in his seat in an effort to relieve some of the pressure that a very pressing erection was causing in his school slacks. 

“Language… Miss Granger,” he whispered, almost absently.

With a defeated sounding groan, she slumped over in her seat, folding her arms on the desk in front of her as she buried her face in her arms. Her wild mane of hair spilled over the sides, hiding most of her arms behind a tumbling curtain of brown curls. 

“Can we please chalk that all up to a moment of temporary insanity and forget that I said anything?” she asked through her arms as he recovered from the shock of what she’d just said to him.

“I don’t think so,” he replied and she groaned again. “But we can put it aside for a moment. There’s still a lot I don’t understand here.” 

Putting aside what she’d just said was really  _not_  something he wanted to do, but at the same time he could understand that the discussion they were having was important and needed to be finished before they could move forward in any way. 

When she finally lifted her head, some minutes later, her face and neck were still a bright red and she couldn’t seem to look in his direction, but at least she looked ready to continue talking. 

“So, I’m reasonably positive I could submit to you,” she mumbled and he nodded.

“Okay,” he muttered, his brow furrowed in thought as he tried to force his mind to task. “Okay, I get… I get what you mean about choice. That makes a certain sense, honestly. And I guess I understand why you think you might be s-submissive and could… with me… that is to say…” He trailed off and rubbed a hand over his face in frustration. 

“I think I understand why you could think that,” he finally said. “What I don’t get, now, is why you’d  _want_ to. What’s the point? How is…  _this_ ,” he tapped the book that still sat on the desk in front of him, “supposed to help with you being so stressed from class?”

“From what I understand, it’s about not having to worry about decisions, in a way. That’s simplistic, but essentially correct,” she started to explain, her blush receding slightly as she appeared to lose herself in her element, explaining something to someone that didn’t understand. “With you in control, for sessions that we would agree on before hand, I can just… just stop worrying about classes and the expectations people have of me. My parents, my professors, even my own expectations. I can stop being ‘me’ and just focus on being… well… whatever it is you want me to be. 

“You tell me what to do. You tell me how to behave, how to act, and all I have to worry about is following orders. It’s… it’s simple. In one of the other books I have, there are letters and essays written by subs about why they choose to submit and that was something one of them said. When being a sub she got to stop worrying about all the stress in her life and could just ‘be’. Just exist in the moment, without everything hanging over her head. I… I don’t honestly know if that will work. Though… oh crap, and here we’re right back to it.” She blushed again but squared her shoulders and pushed onward. “When you kissed me, for a few moments I just… I stopped  _thinking_. I stopped worrying about how you were going to take all this, or if you’d agree, or think I was just a disgusting slut, or-or-or anything else.

“My mind just went silent. All I could focus on was you, and how I felt. It was… it was amazing, honestly. I can’t remember the last time I was just completely calm like that, without anything pressing down on me.”

Harry was thinking, hard, his arms crossed over his chest, head down, and his eyes closed as his mind turned over all of the, rather startling, information he’d just recieved.

It was obvious enough that she was sincere in this. This was something she wanted to try, and he couldn’t honestly say it wasn’t at least partly his fault, sending her off looking for an outlet for the stress she was putting on herself. If she wasn’t going to drop any of her classes in order to lighten her workload, she needed something else. She needed a release. But why him? She said she trusted him, and he’d seen that trust before, the way she willingly followed him into stupid and dangerous situations. She showed that she trusted him in so many ways.

The closeness they shared, as friends… he couldn’t imagine it with anyone else and this… what she was suggesting… they’d obviously be getting a lot closer than they already were. But, could he do it? Could he be with her, like that? He almost snorted out a laugh at the ridiculous thought.  _You’ve touched yourself while thinking of her plenty of times, Potter,_  he reminded himself. Yes, being that close to her wasn’t going to be a problem but… what did that make them? There were still a lot of questions, a lot of details that would need to be worked out. It wasn’t a simple matter of just deciding ‘sure, let’s do it’ and things would just fall into place with no effort or any kind of change to their relationship.

From what he understood, there was a distinct responsibility that she was laying on his shoulders with this request. Was he up to that? Could he take responsibility for her and not hurt her, or screw everything up? But, then again, he’d have her to help him. They would both be learning together, they’d likely both make mistakes, and he knew Hermione, she wouldn’t hold a mistake against him, as long as he learned and improved.

 _You’ve already decided what you want to do, stupid, so do it already! No more excuses, this is the chance you’ve been waiting for so just ask her!_  His own voice echoed inside his head and he finally opened his eyes and lifted his chin to look at Hermione, who was watching him, anxiously. She was practically shaking in her seat, her muscles coiled and tense, her knuckles white where she was gripping the edge of the desk in front of her.

“You really think this… doing this could help you?” he asked and she nodded rapidly.

“I think it could help you, too,” she said, which caught him slightly off guard.

“How do you mean?”

“You’ve had so little in your life that you can actually control. I just… it seems to me that you learning to find more of that confidence in controlling me, might help you find some more control just in your life. You wouldn’t just be helping me, we’d be helping each other.”

 _That_  was certainly an angle he hadn’t considered, and after a brief moment to think it over, he couldn’t see where she might be wrong in that regard. He finally nodded his head, as if affirming a thought, or a decision, and he stood, moving from where he was across from her to pull over a chair and sit next to her, turning even as she did in her own seat so they were facing each other.

He lifted one shaking hand and tucked a few stray curls of her wild hair behind her left ear.

“I think I understand,” he finally said in a very soft tone. “I… I don’t think I understand all of it, but I think I get enough. But, aside from a lot of details that would need to be worked out… I think I would need one more thing, before I could agree to try. No promises to continue, but… at least try.”

The elation on her face fell, just slightly, as he added a caveat.

“What is it?” she asked.

“This…” He blushed harder than ever but refused to look away from her, holding her gaze with his own as he plucked up every last bit of Gryffindor courage that he had in order to continue. “This is… or can be rather… um, rather sexual,” he muttered and almost cracked a grin when her face matched his for color. 

“Y-yes, it would be. That’s… that’s part of what I want to eventually move toward. Maybe not right at first, but-”

She stopped talking when he placed a finger on her lips, frowning slightly. “I’m trying to say something here, Hermione,” he said in an admonishing tone and she ducked her head slightly.

“Sorry.”

“Like I said, this is… sexual and intimate. I don’t… I don’t think it’s something I could do with a friend. As close as we are and as much as I care about you… I just can’t picture us  _just_  being friends if we do this.”

She looked confused for a moment before her entire face suddenly brightened and a broad grin spread across her lips.

“What if… what if we were more than friends?” she asked, a hopeful sounding tone in her voice.

With his heart in his throat and his pulse pounding in his ears he leaned a little closer to her, noting with some far part of his mind how the tip of her tongue darted out briefly to wet her lips.

“I’d be much more comfortable doing this with someone I could call my girlfriend,” he managed to say without fumbling or stuttering in the slightest.

“I would be  _extremely_  happy if you called me your girlfriend,” she whispered and he finally leaned forward to close the last of the distance between them for a soft kiss. It was a completely different experience than their first kiss had been. More emotional, less physical, but no less enjoyable in the slightest, and when he pulled back, several long seconds later, he couldn’t stop the broad grin that spread across his face.

“Okay,” he said, once she’d opened her eyes and had focused her attention again. “I think we can give this a try, if you’re sure it will help and if this is absolutely what you want.” 

“I think it will, Harry. I can’t say one hundred percent, yet, but I really think it will and I absolutely want to try.”

He studied her carefully for a moment, searching for any hint that she might be exaggerating or perhaps stretching the truth, even a little. But eventually, he was satisfied with her answer and leaned back in his seat, slowly reaching out to take her hand. Her smaller hand slid into his, squeezing gently for a moment as she gave him another bright smile.

“Okay,” he said again, feeling much better about the entire idea than he had when he’d first entered the room but he knew he still had a lot to learn if he wanted to avoid hurting her. “So we’re going to do this. But first, I think I need to read those other books that you have. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Hermione smiled at him shyly, and it looked like she was both pleased and surprised at her own good fortune to Harry. He couldn't help but return his own  carefree grin. _Well Potter, if you were going to get yourself into something... at least it was something good._


	5. From This Moment Forward

Two Little Words

by,

Rtnwriter

 

Hermione Granger was many things. At this particular moment, she was one deliriously happy witch as she strolled slowly, through the castle toward Gryffindor Tower with her arm looped through the arm of one Harry Potter, her best friend and, now, boyfriend. 

Boyfriend!

She still couldn’t believe it. Earlier in the day, she’d been worried that Harry would be disgusted by her recently found desire to have him control her. Now, not only had he agree to try being her Dom, (a title she was still coming to terms with, herself) but he’d also asked  _her_  to be his girlfriend.

 _Okay,_  she thought,  _he didn’t actually ask you, but he led you there. So, close enough._

Whether he had actually said the words, or not, the end result was the same. Which led her thoughts to something that she, most definitely, was  _not_. Hermione Granger was not the squealing, giggling, girly type of girl. Whenever the words ‘Harry Potter’ and ‘boyfriend’ went through her mind, however, she found that she had an almost overwhelming urge to squeal and jump up and down, just like all the silly girls that had so frustrated her over the years.

She felt as if there was an expanding bubble of frenetic energy growing inside her chest and it was all she could do to limit her outward reaction to a broad, beaming smile. Not that she could have wiped the smile from her face any time soon anyway. She was just too pleased to be where she was.

After their discussion, earlier, they’d spent another hour just sitting in the empty classroom, mostly talking about inconsequential things. Personally, she had been thrilled that the two, rather dramatic, changes in the nature of their relationship hadn’t seemed to change them at all. They were still just Harry and Hermione, and it still felt like being around her best friend when she was with him.

Well, there was at least  _one_  small difference, she admitted to herself as a light blush dusted her cheeks. Just before they’d left the room to start their way back, they had shared one last soft kiss, something they’d obviously never done before that day.

She came out of her thoughts to find that they were standing outside of the portrait hole and Harry was attempting to give the password to the portrait of Sir Cadogan, however, he couldn’t get a word in over the knight’s effusive praise of Harry for ‘winning the fair maiden’s hand’.

She blushed again, another small giggle escaping her as she was unable to stop herself; the sound was sufficient to distract the knight long enough for Harry to give the password.

It wasn’t until they entered the Common Room that Hermione realized that there was something important they had completely forgotten to discuss. Namely, were they going to advertise their new status as a couple, or attempt to keep it a secret from the rest of the school?

“Well, well, well, look what we have here, Gred.”

“What’s that, Forge?”

Hermione and Harry both groaned as a pair of voices reached them before they’d even taken ten steps into the room.

“Hi, guys,” Harry said, turning to the Weasley twins as the two redheads approached, both of them sporting disturbingly cheerful grins on their freckled faces.

“Hush, Harrykins,” one of them said in a teasingly admonishing tone.

“The big kids are talking.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile just a bit, at the irrepressible duo’s antics and unhooked her arm from Harry's to instead hold his hand as they waited for the castle’s resident Jesters to get on with it. 

“So, what was it that we were looking at, Forge?” asked twin two.

“I believe, that we are seeing the newest couple to grace these Hallowed halls,” twin one replied as his brother let out a shocked gasp, mouth dropping open and one hand coming to his chest.

“No!”

“Yes, indeed, Gred,” twin one insisted. “Note how close together they’re standing?”

“Hmmmm… I do believe you’re right, my more intelligent brother. And see how they’re holding hands?”

“I had noticed that as well, my slightly better looking half,” replied twin one, nodding his head in a contemplative manner. “Also, did you happen to take in the delicate blush coloring the delectable Miss Granger’s cheeks? She’s just so adorable!”

“And then, of course, there’s the possessive glare our favorite Seeker is giving us,” twin two continued as most of the Common Room had, by that point, realized that something was going on and had turned their attention toward the group of four near the Tower’s exit. 

“Are you two done?” Harry asked in a long-suffering kind of tone, “or should I tell Alicia and Angelina that you’re causing problems?”

“Harry!” Both twins burst out. 

“Low blow, honorary Weasley brother… low blow.”

“Right below the belt, it was.”

“Oh, go on, you two,” Hermione laughed, unable to contain her amusement any longer. “Stop making a spectacle of yourselves, or at least don’t drag us into it.”

“ _Are_  we done making a spectacle of ourselves?” one of them asked the other, who looked up at the ceiling as if in thought.

“Why, yes! I do believe we’ve done enough for one day.” Stepping forward he grinned and clapped one hand on Harry’s shoulder and the other on Hermione’s. “All kidding aside, good for you.”

“Yeah. We’ve thought for a while that the two of you would make a good pair. Don’t go making liars out of us,” twin two cut in, wagging a finger in their direction.

It took them a few minutes to make their way through the Common Room after that, as it appeared that nearly everyone present suddenly wanted to talk to them. Eventually, however, they managed to work their way through the crowd and over to a small sofa near the fireplace where they tended to congregate in the evenings with Ron when they were finished with their homework and had nothing else to do but relax.

Of course, Hermione had had far fewer of those moments to relax this year than the two years before, but the point remained. 

“What was that all about?” Ron asked from his favorite armchair closest to the fire, his attention fixed on the chessboard in front of him.

Hogwarts’ newest couple exchanged a look.  _Really?_  Hermione thought.  _How oblivious can you be?_

“You mean you really didn’t hear any of that?” Harry asked after a minute of surprised silence had passed them by.

Ron shrugged. “Hard to hear much from all the way over here,” he pointed out and Harry let out a deep sigh, squeezing her hand gently where he still held it. 

“Well… um… Hermione and I are together now,” Harry said while Hermione watched their friend carefully, not a little worried how he might react to that news.

Ron glanced up at them, noticing where they were sitting on the couch. “Well, yeah,” he said. “You’re both sitting right there.” 

“No, Ron,” Hermione finally said with an exasperated sigh as she lifted their clasped hands. “We’re together, together; as in, Harry asked me to be his girlfriend.”

The lanky redhead’s mouth dropped open and his eyes darted back and forth between the two of them as his ears slowly started to turn red, one of the early warning signs, she’d learned, of a Weasley blow up.

“What’d the two of you go and do that for?” he demanded angrily once he was able to actually form words. “Just trying to ruin everything?”

“What’re you on about?” Harry asked. “Ruin what?”

“Us!” Ron gestured between the three of them with one hand. “The three of us. The Golden Trio and all that. What’d you have to go and mess with that for?”

“We haven’t ‘messed’ with anything, Ronald,” Hermione snapped, irritated with the way he was acting. “Harry and I like each other. We want to try being together and see how things go. I don’t see how our relationship has any impact at all on you.”

“Well of course not, Miss ‘high and mighty, genius’ Granger-”

“Watch it, Ron,” Harry warned him. “You’re my best mate, but that doesn’t mean you get to keep insulting Hermione.”

“But she’s breaking us up!”

“Breaking us… are you completely ‘round the twist?” Harry demanded. “Hermione, you, and I. We’re friends, all three of us. Just because Hermione and I have decided to try something a little… different, doesn’t mean anything. You and me, we’re still best mates. And if you’d quit being a berk to Hermione, you’d understand she’s been a really good friend to you the last couple of years.”

Hermione’s cheeks warmed with yet another flush when Harry called what they had ‘different’ realizing there was another meaning within that word that Ron would never have caught, and the look that Harry gave her out of the corner of his eye told her the boy had done it intentionally.

For a minute Ron just looked back and forth between them, his ears still a bright red and his face fluctuating between outraged and confused before finally settling into something that almost looked contemplative.

“So… so you two aren’t just going to go off all the time to snog and leave me in the lurch?” he asked bluntly, which had both of his friends blushing brightly.

“Ron!”

“Ronald!”

“What? It’s an honest question.”

“Whatever we decide to do, or not do, is none of your business,” she stated, sitting up primly on her portion of the sofa, her hand still clutched tightly in Harry’s. “But no, we’re not going to just disappear on you all the time.”

“She’s right. She has all those extra classes so you and I will have plenty of time to hang out while she’s doing that. The three of us will still hang out together. Just because we’re together, doesn’t mean the three of us aren’t friends anymore.”

He considered that again before finally nodding his head. Awkwardly clearing his throat as he turned his attention back to his one-sided game, “Well… good for you, I guess. Just… well, might take me a little bit to get used to it.”

He was so intent on his game that he didn’t notice both of his friends let out a relieved sigh before Harry turned to her and jerked his head toward the stairs.

“What about those books you wanted me to look at?” Harry asked her quietly.

Hermione almost jumped in her seat when she remembered the books hidden upstairs in her trunk. She quickly kissed his cheek and then ran up the stairs, ignoring Ron’s disgusted groan behind her. Practically flying into the dorm she checked to make sure she was alone before she opened her trunk and pulled out the books. Thinking quickly, she charmed each cover to appear as something extremely boring before she slammed her trunk closed, gathered the books, and headed back down to the Common Room; her head swimming with anticipation and her pulse pounding heavily in her ears.

She slowed to a walk when she reached the bottom of the stairs and strolled casually over to the sofa, dropping down next to Harry and placing the books in his hands. With an amused twitch of his lips he looked over the titles for a moment before he set the books on his lap.

“What’re those?” Ron asked, his attention caught by her return.

“Just some books Hermione asked if I’d read for her,” Harry explained, causing the redhead to pull a face.

“See? And that’s another reason not to get with the smart girls,” he pointed out. “Well… better you than me, Mate.”

Hermione’s indignant sputtering was lost as Harry burst out laughing.

 

##### 

 

Saturday morning found the two of them meeting early in the Common room so they could be the first down to breakfast. They both agreed they needed as much time alone together as possible before meeting up with Ron for lunch, and neither of them was really certain they’d work out everything that needed to be discussed before then. Walking hand in hand to the Great Hall, Harry felt relieved to note the little signs in his girlfriend that let him know she was just as nervous about this whole thing as he was. 

Her grip on his hand was a little tighter than necessary and her lips were pressed firmly together, her posture stiff and tense as they made their way through the castles many corridors and halls. Neither of them said anything as they both sat down to a light breakfast and, at Hermione’s previous encouragement, Harry decided to stick mostly to fruits and grains for his meal. He really wasn’t sure that his nervous stomach would handle anything heavier anyway.

While they ate, he let his mind wander back over the last four days of reading he’d done in preparation for this day. Four eye-opening days. The things he’d learned from those three books had thoroughly haunted his dreams, and even some of his waking hours.

More and more as he’d read, he started to understand just how complicated a thing it was that Hermione was asking of him. The level of responsibility that she was asking him to shoulder… he thought he’d understood the situation from the first book, but each of the other three had simply added layers to the entire prospect of what lay ahead of them. And, as he learned, there were varying degrees to almost  _everything_. 

How much control would she be willing to give him? How often did she want to or expect to? What did she actually want to do and experience? What things would she be completely against?

 _That’s what you’re going to talk about today,_  he thought, trying to force his thoughts away from the terrifying, yet enticing, ideas that taken root in his mind. Firmly, he reminded himself of a thought he’d had the night that the two of them had made up about the Firebolt.

_If Hermione needs you, there isn’t much that you wouldn’t be willing to do for her. To protect her. To keep her safe. Right now, with what she’s taken on, the workload and stress… she needs you to save her from herself._

In anticipation of the discussion they intended to have, last night he’d done two things that would probably have Hermione feeling immensely proud of him. First, he’d finished off a plan that he’d been idly working on for days about what he wanted to do, and how he wanted to approach this discussion, or at least the start of it. Then, he’d actually made a list. It wasn’t a very long list, but it was still a list. Absently, he patted his jeans pocket through his robes, just to make sure he still had his list, and felt a sense of relief at the feeling of the folded piece of parchment in his pocket.

He jumped a moment later when a hand suddenly landed on his shoulder and turned to find beautiful cinnamon eyes studying him intently. 

“Are you okay?” she asked, the first words either of them had spoken since they’d greeted each other in the Common Room.

“Y-yeah,” he stammered. “I’m fine, just… just thinking.”

She offered him a slightly shaky smile before nodding to his plate. “Are you done?” she asked.

He glanced down, surprised to find that he’d actually eaten the majority of his food, so he nodded, turning back to her, “Yeah, I don’t really feel like eating anymore.”

He stood and reached out to take her hand, leading her from the Hall after she had her feet under her. Almost literally before he knew it, they were standing in front of the door leading into what he was coming to think of as ‘their’ classroom. As soon as they were inside with the door closed behind them, both of them started casting silencing charms at nearly every surface and Hermione cast something that sealed the door with a loud squelching sound.

“A locking spell, ‘Colloportus’,” she explained as a blush rose in her cheeks at the curious look he was giving her. “I looked it up the other day.”

 _Which is something I should probably have done,_  he thought, considering what he’d learned about the responsibility facing him as her Dom. Something like basic security really was something he should have been on top of if he wanted to move forward with this.  _Am I really good enough for the trust she’s placing in me?_  he wondered. 

They moved over to the seats they’d used on Monday, Hermione facing him across a distance of a few feet with the desks between them and she started digging through her book bag.

“So, the point, today, is to work out some of the details of how we want this to work,” she started, her voice taking on a very familiar, lecturing tone. “We don’t have anyone to help us or teach us how this all works, so we should probably discuss and cover as much of the material as possible, just to make sure that-”

“Hermione!” he suddenly barked, interrupting her speech and her search through her bag as she cut off, her head snapping up to fix him with a wide-eyed look of surprise at his sharp, reprimanding tone.

“W-what is it?” she asked.

It took Harry a quick moment to focus as he was just as startled as she’d been by his tone. Startled, and honestly, a touch thrilled by her reaction. He resisted the urge to frown as he considered that brief feeling for a moment.

“What are we?” he finally asked, remembering the plan that he’d developed over the last few days. 

She blinked several times, her brow furrowed in confusion as she attempted to puzzle out his meaning.

“I-I don’t understand,” she admitted, softly and shifted around nervously in her seat. 

“I haven’t been goofing off the last few days, you know” he told her. “I read those books, carefully. One of them twice and the others I at least referenced a lot while I’ve been thinking about how this should work. One thing that’s pretty clear is… is that th-there’s a dynamic that’s supposed to be at work here, right?”

He cleared his throat and gestured between the two of them with one hand. “So, what are we? Right now, are we Harry and Hermione? Are you my girlfriend, and am I your boyfriend? Or are you my s-sub, and am I your Dom?”

_Stupid time to stutter, Potter!_

He took a deep, steadying breath while she thought that over, hoping she wouldn't notice his slip. 

She squirmed again in her seat, her hands tightly clasped on the desk in front of her, eyes lowered, “I.. I w-want to be your sub, Harry. More than ever,” she whispered, her face a bright, brilliant red.

“If you want to be my sub, then what am I?” he asked her, letting out the breath he’d been holding out of fear over how she was going to react. 

“You are my Dom,” she said in a breathless tone.

At that, his head cocked to one side for a moment, and he considered what they’d been saying before he suddenly shook his head.

“No,” he said. “You’re not my sub, and I’m not your Dom, not yet at least. That’s kind of what we’re here to figure out, right?”

She nodded.

“Well, as your  _potential_  Dom, do you think that you should you be lecturing me like you were? Would you talk to one of your Professors that way?”

Wide eyed, she violently shook her head, her hair bouncing wildly about.

“We’re going to need to help each other,” he told her, gently, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk in front of him. “You’re going to have to explain some things to me at times, I’m sure. Just… be careful of your tone.”

“I-I’ll try, Harry,” she whispered, shifting her weight again, anxiously. 

“And I'll remind you, when you slip up,” he said, and the smile that broke out on her face was probably the brightest he’d ever seen from her.

With a smile of his own stealing over his lips, Harry leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest, “Well, to be perfectly honest, that was all I had, for now,” he said and then broke out laughing at the shocked look that took over her face. 

“Wh- but… you…” He saw the moment when the proverbial light bulb clicked on and she realized what’d just happened. “You planned that?” she blurted out and he nodded still smiling. 

“But… how?” 

“I know you, Hermione,” he explained. “You said it yourself. You really can be an insufferable know-it-all sometimes. Personally, I like that about you. I figured you were likely to go off into your lecture mode at some point, and I decided I could use the opportunity.”

“For what?”

“I wasn’t sure if I could be… well… a Dom, I guess,” he said, flushing slightly. “I didn’t know if I really had it in me.” He shrugged, somewhat self-deprecatingly. 

“Well… y-you did a very good job,” she muttered. 

“And?” 

She shot him a confused look.

“How did you feel about it?”

Her answer came in the form of another deep flush that started to creep down her neck as she shifted around in her seat, refusing to meet his eyes. 

“It was… oh, Harry it's… it's difficult to describe. I've honestly had some doubts, but… well it’s pretty clear to me that I can be submissive to you and… I… I really enjoyed it.”

By the time she’d finished her voice had dropped to a low mumble and he almost couldn’t make out what she was saying, but he just managed and felt that same thrill run through him that he’d felt earlier.

“What about you?” she suddenly asked, bringing his attention back to her to find that she’d sat up more in her seat, her flush having receded significantly and was looking curiously at him.

“What about me?” he asked, confused by the question.

“How did you feel about it? About… commanding me like that?”

He shrugged. “What does it matter? This isn’t about me really. It’s about you, and what you need.”

“But… but it doesn’t work that way, Harry,” she said, visibly stopping herself from saying more in the way her lips pressed tightly together.

“What do you mean?”

“I told you, before, this could help you too. And, well, if you don’t enjoy it, if you don’t  _want_  to be my Dom, do you honestly think it could work?”

He frowned at that, not really having considered his part in it beyond the responsibility he was facing and what he would need to do to help her. He remembered what she said, about gaining some control in his life and he couldn’t argue the point. If he was being completely honest with himself, he really had enjoyed what he had done, and how she’d reacted. He’d just been so focused on trying to maintain the commanding style he’d adopted that he really hadn’t been paying much attention to those feelings at the time.

He didn’t exactly answer her, but his grin spoke volumes and a moment later he sat up straighter in his seat and leaned his elbows on the desk again. 

“So. We’ve got a lot to figure out, don’t we?” he asked.

She nodded, also gathering herself to focus on what they needed to discuss if they wanted to make a go of things. “I… uh, I had a suggestion, I think we should do, before we start getting into things.”

He didn’t say anything but nodded for her to continue.

“Well, can we agree that we want to keep… keep  _this_  separate from the rest of our lives? That is, I’m only your sub in here, or when we’re actually going to be in a session, and you’re only my Dom at those times, too?”

“Right, there’s different levels of… of commitment, I guess,” he muttered. “What was it called… T… T... something?”

Hermione opened her mouth, but at a sharp look from him she flushed, and her mouth closed with a snap. A moment later he snapped his fingers, brightening considerably. “TPE,” he said. “That was a full-time situation, right?”

She nodded. “Total Power Exchange. Meaning keeping the dynamic twenty-four seven. I don’t think that would really work too easily here, and I’m not sure it’s necessary. At least to start, when we’re still learning?”

“Makes sense,” he said, shrugging. “So what’s your suggestion?”

At that she took a deep breath and started to talk.

“Well, I was thinking that I could call you ‘Sir’ and you could have a name that you would call me, because if we want to keep the dominance and submission separate from our relationship outside of it, it would be easier if we had specific terms to refer to each other by when we're in session. And also, you know the books talked about the headspace, that submissive or dominant mindset. I thought we might be able to more easily keep that separate by having a specific term that we would use only when in here.”

Harry stared at her when she finally finished, his mouth hanging open and his eyebrows up near his hairline in surprise. After several long moments he seemed to shake himself and closed his mouth.

“Okaaayyy,” he said, drawing out the word for several seconds. “I'm pretty sure that entire thing was all one long sentence and… I'm not certain you stopped to breathe during it. But… you're not wrong. It's not a bad idea at all.”  

His eyes suddenly narrowed, studying her carefully from her flushed cheeks to the slightly hunched posture and the way she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Her eyes would dance around, darting to meet his for a half a second before shooting away again, looking somewhere else in the room.

“I think we can do that. You can call me, Sir. On one condition. You tell me why you really want to call me that.”

“What do you mean?” she squeaked out.

“Hermione, you only talk like that when you’re trying to gloss over or hide something. Why do you really want to call me, Sir?”

Her cheeks burning, she lowered her head and mumbled something that he couldn’t hear.

“Hermione,” he said sternly. “Look at me.”

Slowly, she lifted her head and looked at him, her cinnamon eyes dark with some emotion he couldn’t quite identify, her face still flushed, sweat beading slightly on her forehead and her hair wild around her head and face.

“Why do you want to call me, Sir?” he repeated in a firm, demanding tone.

“I… I’d like to call you, Sir, when we’re… when we’re like this, because I like what saying it does to me,” she finally got out in a low but steady voice.

He considered asking what it did to her, but he was pretty sure he could guess, based on her appearance. 

“Hermione, you seem really nervous about this whole thing,” he said after a few more moments spent just looking at her. Not that he wasn’t nervous himself. His own cheeks had been flushed more often than not since they’d entered the room, but her behavior was very different. “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Yes, I’m nervous,” she admitted. “But… well it’s… talking to you this way is making me so…” she trailed off and ducked her head again and for a moment he was reminded of her slip of the tongue from the other day, how she’d told him that she touched herself thinking of him, dreamed of him, thought of him controlling her and how wet that would get her, and he honestly couldn’t stop a bit of a smirk from turning up the corner of his mouth.

“Okay then,” he said. “You can call me, Sir, if that’s what you want, and I’ll have to think of something for you, I just don’t have anything right now. Is that okay?”

That beaming smile appeared on her face again, and she nodded. “Yes, Sir,” she said, visibly shivering, just slightly, as the word left her lips. 

He had to admit, when she’d said it in the past, the night before she left for home, and the day she’d given him that first book, the context had been different. Now, with the understanding of why she was using that deferential term to refer to him, he rather liked hearing her say it.

“Okay, we really need to get to why we’re here, or we’ll be at it all day,” he pointed out and she nodded her head again, going back to digging in her bag.

“Right. So, one of the books was all about contracts. I thought it might be a good idea for us to write one.”

“Why?” he asked. He’d looked over that contract book and hadn’t considered what use it might have for them. The arrangement they were discussing seemed a little too… casual for something as serious in nature as a contract.

“Mostly just so that we can keep the rules we decide on clear and easy to reference, Sir,” she said as she pulled out all four of the books she’d received and a roll of parchment. “I already copied one of the contracts from the book, mostly just for the different sections and without filling in any of the information.”

He sighed, looking at the roll for a minute before turning his eyes to hers. She looked concerned by his reaction and he gave her a soft smile, attempting to reassure her.

“I’m tempted to burn that thing and have us start over,” he admitted. “I’m… I’m trying to keep the mindset you were talking about, in mind so to speak, and I think that you doing that without consulting me is overstepping, just a bit.”

Her eyes widened and she appeared to shrink in on herself.

“I’m sorry, Sir, I… I was just trying to help.”

“And that’s why I’m not going to burn it,” he told her. “I just… we need to figure out the rules of all this, what we each expect so that this kind of thing doesn’t happen, right? At least you didn’t fill it in and expect me to just agree to whatever you put down.”

“I knew better than that, Sir. I just thought I’d save us a bit of time from having to copy it out now.”

“All right. So first I’ve got a couple topics that I’m most… not interested in exactly… more, topics I think are the most important to get out of the way first and to be as clear as possible.”

“You do?” she asked, looking surprised, and pleased.

“I told you,” he said as he pulled open his robes to retrieve his list from his jeans pocket. “I’ve been working on this. You say you need this, and I’m not certain I really fully understand why you’d think that, but I want to help you. I also don’t want to screw anything up. I’m certain it would be very easy to make a mistake or do something wrong that could really hurt you and I don’t want that to happen. So,” he held up the parchment. “I made a list.”

“May I?”

She held out one slightly trembling hand and he nodded, handing over the list. It was short, only having three items on it.

_One: What kind of sub do you think you are?_

_Two: How do we want to handle punishments?_

_Three: What are your limits?_

“I thought those were the most immediate things that needed to be decided,” he told her as she skimmed it over.

“What do you mean by what kind of sub?” she asked and he frowned at that, leaning back again to cross his arms over his chest as he tried to articulate what he was thinking.

“From what I was able to gather in the reading, not everyone enjoys the same thing. That’s obvious enough. But it means there’s no single definition of what a sub is or does really. Some of the letters those subs wrote? Some of them talked about enjoying bondage. Some enjoyed pain or being punished, so they’d do something on purpose to earn a punishment. Some really liked being humiliated and degraded.”

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly feeling far less confident than he’d managed to so far. His nerves came back with a vengeance after they’d vanished during his commanding her not to lecture him. 

“Some of those things… Hermione, I honestly don’t know if I  _could_  do those, to anyone, but especially not to you. I care about you too much to treat you like that.”

“But what if I want you to?” she asked, her soft tone causing him to look up from the desk in front of him to meet her eyes. “What if I discover I’m masochistic? I don’t know, Sir. We might find out I do have a thing for humiliation. Honestly, calling you, Sir, is a form of humiliation, in a way. It’s… it lowers me, makes me less than you.” She let out a short laugh. “When I was first reading the abbreviation D/s with the large ‘D’ and the small ‘s’ irritated me to no end. That it made the Dom seem more than the sub, or superior to them. 

“That was before I was willing to admit that I could have a submissive streak in me. And now… it feels… it feels wonderful to treat you that way, Sir,” she whispered. “It’s… I know you don’t think of yourself as more important or better than me. And for that reason I enjoy calling you, Sir, because I know you would value what it means. My willingness to be lower, to be less than.”

“You’ve been thinking about that for a little while, haven’t you?” he asked. 

“At least two weeks, Sir. Since I first admitted to myself I wanted to try this and that I wanted no one but you to control me,” she confirmed, nodding calmly. Her embarrassment and nervousness seemed to have evaporated into nothing as she, the one who would possibly suffer at times during what she wanted from him, took a moment to reass _ure him_  that it was okay. 

 _I’m really not worthy of her,_  he thought and he sat up again, squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw, determined to see this through, for his Hermione.

“So,” she said. “I guess we don’t know what kind of sub I will be. That’s something we’ll have to learn as we go along. Punishments? Case by case basis?”

He considered that. Not all the punishments that were mentioned included pain and he understood the concept that a punishment could be anything, as long as the sub found it unpleasant. Hell, for Hermione, he could take her favorite book away from her for a week or something as a punishment. Oh, no, that wouldn’t work, he reminded himself, since they’re keeping things only to during sessions. 

“And you have to agree to it. I won’t do anything that you don’t consent to,” he stated, firmly and was answered by another smile.

“And that’s why I trust you to do this for me.”

_She trusts me. Average student. Trouble magnet that’s dragged her into danger so many times already when she’s so… so much more than that._

“Limits?” he asked.

“That’d be for both of us. I imagine there’s probably some things you might like that I wouldn’t care for and vice versa.”

“How do we figure those out?”

Hermione fell into thought, tapping her chin lightly with the feather of her quill for a few moments before her eyes focused back on him. 

“Part of me wants to say we don’t set any limits, but that’s not a smart thing to do at all,” she added the last before he could protest and he nodded emphatically.

“Damn right that wouldn’t be smart,” he said and she frowned, just slightly at his language but didn’t say anything.

“My concern is that we don’t know enough to say what we might like or not like,” she pointed out. “Maybe… what if we went through the lists in the books, there’s a fair number of things mentioned, not everything, but a lot. If we go through them and we just pick out things that we would absolutely be unwilling to even consider much less actually do, then we take everything else case by case again?”

He considered that for a moment before agreeing. It made sense to just remove the absolute ‘no’ items and they could discuss the others as they went along. The next hour was spent going through everything they could find and discussing each one. Scat was immediately vetoed by both of them with nearly identical disgusted expressions on their faces, though Harry’s face morphed into astonishment when Hermione didn’t immediately veto watersports (after she’d explained to him that it didn’t have much to do with a pool or bath).

“It’s not harmful, and I’m not saying I want to give that a try tomorrow, or something,” she’d said, completely unable to even look at him. “But it seems silly to completely dismiss something unpleasant out of hand. Scat could make you incredibly sick and that’s not just unpleasant but absolutely disgusting. Same with vomit. No, thank you.”

Blood, needles, knives, and permanent marks or body modification were added to their list soon after and, with an hour left to go before lunch, Hermione leaned back with a simple, completed contract written out in front of her. There were some very basic rules such as not bringing things from outside a session into it. So, Harry couldn’t punish her in session because she’d upset him earlier in the day, or something (He’d been quite insistent on including that one). There was also plenty of space for them to add rules and specific guidelines on when and how those things could be changed.

Near the top there were two lines for the terms they would call each other and Hermione proudly wrote ‘Sir’ on the first line in her neat script before she turned to him.

“Well, Sir?” she asked. “Have you thought of something to call me?”

He hadn’t, really, though he’d been wracking his brain for a while. He’d even read off some of the names other subs wrote that they’d been called to her and none of them quite seemed to fit in his head. Pet. Kitten. Slut. Cunt, that one he had not read aloud, but she’d already read it, so she knew it was there and had flushed brilliantly when he’d suddenly cut off speaking in mid sentence.

Harry’s eyes were fixed on the roll of parchment, his mind turning rapidly as he struggled to come up with something. The contract wasn’t binding in any way. The only way it had to actually bind them was their own willingness to adhere to it. But the wording of it. Hermione had insisted that it state that she belonged to him during their sessions. She was his to use, train, teach, and abuse as he saw fit. There was no doing anything half way with this girl, and that had always been something he loved about her, but at times like this, her single-minded manner of throwing herself fully into whatever she did was… rather intimidating.

_Hermione Granger. Advocate. Hates inequality and inequity. Hates bigotry and people acting as if they’re better than others, wants to consider herself nothing more than property during these times. My property. My property!_

Harry sat up, sharp and sudden, causing Hermione, who had been watching him carefully, to jump at the abrupt motion. If she wanted to be his… well… he would see just how willing she was before they signed that thing.

He turned his head, bright green eyes seeming to pierce her as his stare focused intently on her and he stood, gesturing to the center of the room.

“Stand up.”

 

#####

 

The last few hours had kept Hermione on an up and down roller coaster of extreme embarrassment, that for some reason turned her on to no end, and just plain being turned on by how her boyfriend (her Dom) was acting. When he’d broken into her nervous lecture and forcefully demanded to know what they were, explaining that she was the sub… damn if she didn't almost have an orgasm right there.

She didn’t.

But Merlin, was it a close thing and she couldn’t understand just how much and how quickly she’d come to the mindset of being controlled by Harry Potter. Maybe it was the fact that he’d always controlled her, in a way? She’d been willing to do many things she’d never have even considered before, because of him. She’d broken rules, she’d broken laws. She’d set a teacher on fire, for Merlin’s sake! 

The books had given her fertile imagination a starting point. Erotic images flooded her brain and it kept inserting herself and Harry into the original subjects' places. As she’d learned more about what was possible in the dynamic she wanted to build with him, it had just become easier and easier to imagine different ways that he could control her. Her actions, her body, her mind. And the more she thought about it, the more sublime the feeling became. To let him use her however he wanted. She would already do nearly anything for Harry, and had, and now she was more than willing to forget everything else and simply be whatever he wanted her to be. 

The world could have vanished outside their classroom and as long as he continued to give her those piercing stares and as long as he spoke to her the way he was, she wouldn’t have another thought for anything else in her life. When he let her call him Sir, she couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through her body. Her nipples were damn near painfully hard within her bra and she was sure she was nearly swimming in her knickers by the time they finally got down to the topic of those details they needed to discuss.

The disappointment on his face when she’d brought out the copied contract… she had never experienced such a stabbing sensation of guilt before. For a moment, she almost begged him to forgive her, but she’d held herself together.  _You’ll probably be begging him, one way or another, soon enough._

She’d shivered again as the thought went through her mind but had quickly forced herself to task, focusing on the details that needed to be dealt with before she could give herself over to him.

There was only one small, black cloud hanging over her head by the time she’d finished penning their contract and had written her term for him on the top line. She still didn’t know what he would call her, and she desperately wanted to know. She carefully held her silence as he thought, bright green gaze never wavering from the roll of parchment on the desk in front of her for several long minutes when he suddenly sat up, startling her, and then stood, gesturing toward the center of the room where there was a wide space between the front row of student desks and the professor’s desk at the front of the room. 

“Stand up,” he said.

She blinked, surprised at the sudden command and at first, she completely failed to react. When he arched one brow in her direction after a few moments of her staring at him in silence she jumped again and then almost leaped to her feet, moving to stand with her back toward the desk so she was facing the rows of student desks. Harry shrugged out of his robes, leaving him in his too big jeans and one of his uniform dress shirts.

“Take off your robes,” he told her, holding one hand out expectantly and that time she moved quickly to do as she was told as another shiver ran through her body.

“Harry, wha-”

“Quiet.”

He reached out and took her robes from her, laying both sets across the professor’s desk behind her. She desperately wanted to turn around and see what he was doing but she was already kicking herself for using his name instead of calling him Sir a moment ago, so she kept still and fought the urge to fidget. The cold of the room had another, entirely different, shiver running through her and a moment later Harry came into view, walking around her to pick up the contract from the desk where she’d left it. 

“This might sound like a stupid question,” he said, his focus on the parchment in his hands. “Especially since you wrote it. But I’d like to know, do you know what this contract means? Or… maybe, what does it mean to you?”

Confused, she considered the question for a few seconds.

“It’s our agreement,” she finally said. “It’s the rules and expectations we will agree to abide by while we… while we give this dynamic a try.”

“Do you know what it means to me?” he asked, looking up to meet her eyes and she shivered yet again, suddenly feeling the extreme arousal that had abated some during their long discussion over the contracts details come roaring back to the fore, grabbing her attention firmly.

Slowly, she shook her head, suddenly more grateful than she’d ever been that, as a girl, he couldn’t clearly see just how turned on he was getting her. The weight of his gaze settled on her, pressing down like a physical presence and she eventually lowered her head. A moment later her chin snapped back up, her eyes wide as she clearly saw the distinct evidence of  _his_  arousal with their current situation.

_Merlins sack! she thought. He’s actually getting off on treating me this way!_

The sound of her voice inside her own head was… triumphant? Exultant? Gleeful? Hell the exact word didn’t matter, she was just ecstatic to see the effect she could have on him, the physical evidence that he found her attractive. Sure, there was probably a mix of him being a teen boy being in the same room with a girl that he knew was willing to do any number of exciting new things with him, plus the fact that he’d enjoyed commanding her earlier. It probably wasn’t just her that caused the tent in the front of his jeans, but she was definitely a part of it, and she’d take whatever she could get.

“To me, this contract says that you’re agreeing to belong to me. As you worded it, you basically become my property. You’re agreeing that I can use you, in any way I want. You’re agreeing to let me do whatever I want to you and your only option to stop it is the safe word we agreed to. The trust you’re showing me… I can’t see how you think I’m remotely worth it.”

A tingling sensation spread out through her from somewhere near her middle as he spoke, the possessive nature of the words having an immediate effect on her already amped body and she had to bite the inside of her cheek not to moan. 

Harry turned and set the contract down before turning back and walking up until he was barely a foot away from her. In the cold room she could feel the warmth of his body, and his green eyes seemed more vibrant and bright than ever over that short distance.

“Like you said,” he murmured, “it’s your choice to submit to me. Your choice to let me do what I like to you. So, you can also choose to stop me, whenever you want.”

 _Merlin’s fucking beard, I don’t want to stop you, just do something!_  she practically screamed inside her head.

He leaned even closer and his voice dropped to a whisper that she had to honestly strain to hear. “I’m going to touch you, Hermione,” he said. “If you’re sure you want to be my property during these times, then I think I should inspect that property, before either of us sign anything. If you want me to stop, just tell me.”

A low whimper crawled its way up her throat and into her mouth, just escaping past her lips and she felt her already ruined knickers soaking up even more of her juices. 

A moment later the tips of his fingers brushed her cheeks and her eyes slid closed, completely against her will. She was so nervous she could hardly stand it. She worried he’d find her wanting. She worried he’d be disappointed in her. She worried that he’d decide there was someone else better. 

Her worries banished themselves to some far corner of her mind when his hands moved and suddenly all she was capable of doing was feeling. Slowly, his fingers moved across her skin, brushing against her cheeks, her jaw, her chin, even across her forehead and over her scalp, burying his fingers in her tangled mass of curls. She had to fight the urge to giggle when his calloused thumbs brushed over her ears and then she had to suppress a disappointed groan when his fingers moved down the column of her throat without coming into contact with her lips. 

Rough palms smoothed down either side of her neck, his thumbs gently caressing the front of her throat until they separated, sliding across her shoulders and beginning a tortuous journey down her arms as she cursed the fact that she’d worn a long-sleeved V-necked shirt that day as she lost the feeling of his skin against hers until he reached her hands.

He lifted first her right, then her left, smoothing the pads of his fingers across the backs of her hands, her palms, the sensitive skin at her wrists and then brushing along each of her fingers before he lowered her arms back to her sides. With his right hand on her left shoulder, he walked around her, letting his hand slide across her upper chest as he moved, his fingers trailing along the exposed ridges of her collar bones due to the shirt's low neckline, and her whole body shuddered at the sensation. 

Once he was behind her, he lifted the tangled curtain of her hair for a moment, getting his hands under it to run down her back, tracing the track of her spine with one thumb, palms sliding across her shoulder blades and down along the tightly coiled muscles of her lower back until he reached the waistband of her jeans. For a moment, his fingers had caught on the strap of her bra through her shirt, but he’d adjusted well enough that it hadn’t caused her any discomfort.

His hands settled on her waist, gripping her body just above her hips firmly, but not enough to hurt. It felt distinctly possessive in the way he held her, and another wave of warmth flowed outward from those two points of contact until she was positive every inch of her skin must have been flushed a bright red.

Suddenly she felt his breath against her ear as he leaned in and whispered to her. “You’re shaking. Are you okay?”

 _Shaking?_  She was startled to realize he was right. Her entire body was trembling, and she hadn’t even noticed. If she could have thought clearly, she might have realized that, though he probably had no idea exactly what he was doing, he’d succeeded in reducing her awareness to nothing but her body, the physical sensations running through her, and his presence behind her.

Jerkily, she nodded her head, not trusting her voice enough to try and speak as she let out a shuddering breath when his hands moved again, toward the center of her back until his thumbs met at her spine, then her eyes popped open in surprise when he rotated his wrists so his fingers were pointing down, toward the floor and his palms slid down to cup the curves of her arse just before he gave her a firm squeeze.

She jumped, and a loud squeak escaped her. Behind her, he froze, holding perfectly still for several moments until she shifted her hips, pressing her arse back into his hands, her eyes sliding closed once again. She hummed quietly as his hands trailed over her curves, caressing every inch of her before moving back up and then around until both of his hands rested on her belly, just above her waistband.

He slowly started stroking her sides and then around to her front, back and forth, tracing the lines of her ribs and with each pass, his hands climbed higher up her torso until he stopped just below the cups of her bra.

“Please.”

The word came out in a pleading, desperate whimper and she was shocked to realize that it had come from her! 

“Please, Sir,” she whined, and she pushed back against him. Her head fell back against his shoulder, her back against his chest and her arse pressed firmly into his groin, trapping the hard length of his erection between their bodies.

She let out a long sigh as his hands slid up the rest of the way to cup her modest, b-cup breasts through her bra and she shuddered again against him, slowly grinding her arse back into him as he held her.

Far too soon for her liking, his hands, and his body moved away as he walked around in front of her again. Her eyes slid barely half open, eyelids feeling heavy and she watched as he knelt in front of her, running his palms down the front of her thighs, feeling the way the muscles in her legs coiled and tensed at his touch. He gently caressed both her legs, front, sides, and reaching around her to slide down the back all the way to her ankles.

Her hands had already moved to grip his shoulders in order to keep her balance, when his started to move up the inside of her calves, over her knees, her thighs, until he stopped a few inches away from her center, practically the only untouched part of her body left to him.

Mewling keening sounds escaped her mouth, now, and her hips moved, almost involuntarily, attempting to get him to touch her. He stood, left hand moving to her hip while the fingers of his right traced lazy patterns on her inner thighs.

“Don’t… don’t stop,” she whimpered, beyond caring how desperate she must have sounded to him, beyond caring about much of anything but feeling him touch her.

“Open your eyes,” he murmured, and she did, wondering briefly when they’d closed again, to find his green gaze barely two inches from hers.

“Please!”

“Please, what?” he asked.

“Sir! Please, Sir!” she groaned.

He shook his head.

“That’s not what I meant,” he told her, one finger sliding an inch higher up the inside of her thigh. “What do you want?”

“Touch me,” she whispered breathlessly, her chest heaving.

“I am touching you.”

She groaned again, her head falling forward against his shoulder as her hips jerked another time.

“Touch me… touch me... there… please.”

“Where? ‘There’ is kind of vague.”

Damn him, he wanted to make her say it. She couldn’t think straight. Her entire body hummed and tingled like it never had before, her mind awash in the sensations running through her, drowning out rational thought as she struggled for the word. A moment, or maybe an hour later, she honestly couldn’t tell, a word popped into her head. A word from one of the sub letters. One she’d never have used before, but now she blurted it out without thinking.

“My cunt! Please, Sir, please touch my cunt. I need you t-to…”

Her words trailed off into a moan as his hand slid up to press against her sex, cupping her firmly and the rough material of her jeans ground through her knickers directly over her clit. 

Her body jerked, grinding his hand against her once, twice, then every single muscle seemed to tense all at once. Her head fell back, eyes squeezed tightly shut, mouth opened wide in a silent scream which slowly gave way to sound, a low, gasping, guttural moan that seemed to curl up from somewhere near her toes until it poured from her throat.

The next conscious thing that she realized was she was sitting in Harry’s lap, his left arm supporting her upper back as she sat curled into his chest with his right hand actually trapped between her tightly clasped legs. Every so often he would wiggle his fingers, as if trying to restore feeling, and the sensation sent a wave of shivers through her already trembling frame.

Slowly, she moved her left leg, her muscles twitching and trembling, in order to free his hand and he murmured, “thanks,” pulling his hand away and flexing his fingers a few times. It was at that point that she noticed a damp sheen on his hand and her cheeks suddenly burned as she blushed and buried her face against his chest.

“Oh, Merlin,” she gasped, utterly mortified to realize that she’d actually soaked through her knickers and her jeans.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, gently and she tilted her head back to look up at him, an incredulous look on her flushed and sweaty face. 

“You’ve had me turned on for hours, now, and you just made me come so hard that I soaked through my jeans. How do you think I’m feeling?”

He chuckled, his eyes dancing with amusement.

“Well, when you put it that way, I’d imagine you’re feeling pretty good, and exhausted.”

She nodded, laying her head back against his chest again.

“I believe you misspoke with your tone, there, however,” he pointed out in a low voice and her head snapped up immediately.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” she blurted out.

“We’ll let it slide, this time,” he said. “We’re still not exactly settled into our roles and we haven’t even signed the contract you wrote up for us,” he pointed out, to her relief.

“I’ll try harder, Sir,” she promised. 

The smile he gave her caused a warm feeling to grow in the center of her chest for a moment before her scattered thoughts latched onto something he’d said.

“Oh! The contract!”

“Right, I’ve been waiting for you to come back to me, so I could tell you what I’ve decided to call you.”

Her grin was infectious as she sat up in his lap, her expression suddenly eager and a touch apprehensive as well as she waited to hear what he’d decided.

“Mine.”

She blinked several times in surprise and he let out another laugh at the quizzical look on her face.

“It’s similar to your name. Hermione. Mine. But it also is meant to indicate what you are when we’re in here,” he added with a gesture to take in the room around them. “By the way you worded that contract, you’re agreeing to be mine. My property. My sub. My, Mine.”

Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes and she wrapped her arms tightly around him in a crushing hug as she pressed her face into the crook of his neck.

“I love it, Sir,” she whispered. “Thank you, so much. Thank you for not thinking less of me and for agreeing to do this with me. It’s only been a few weeks since I even learned about it but… I couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone but you.”

Gently, he coaxed her away from his neck and tilted her head back, leaning down to kiss her and she let out a contented sigh as she realized that, aside from her feet, which were still inside her shoes, he’d touched every inch of her with that kiss. 

When he broke away from their kiss he smiled down at her. “Go get the contract, Mine,” he ordered gently. She beamed at him again before she gingerly climbed to her feet and moved over to retrieve the contract and her self-inking quill, before bringing it back and taking a seat on the floor next to him where he motioned for her to sit. 

Taking the quill from her, Harry wrote ‘Mine’ as neatly as he could on the second line then moved to the bottom of the roll and signed his own name before he handed the quill to Hermione. In just a few seconds her name gleamed wetly beneath his and Harry drew his wand, casting a quick charm to dry the ink before he rolled the parchment up and handed it to her.

“You should hold onto this, Mine,” he told her. “When we need to make adjustments, adding or removing rules and such, you should be the one to actually do it.”

“I understand, Sir.” 

After the books and their contract were carefully put away in her bag, they got ready to leave the room; making sure that they hadn’t left anything behind before Hermione unsealed the door and led the way out into the hall.

“I need to clean up before Lunch,” she said, blushing furiously again as she glanced down at her damp jeans and pulled her robes back on, holding them closed to hide the evidence of what Harry had done to her.

“Okay, I’ll meet you there?” he asked with a glance at his watch.

“Why not just come with me?”

He gave her a grin that was eerily reminiscent of a certain pair of redheaded twins before he said, “gotta go see a Scott about a cat.” Leaning forward he gently kissed her cheek before he turned and strolled his way along the corridor heading toward the Grand Staircase. Behind him, Hermione just shook her head and tried not to wonder just what he was up to this time, or if it would land him in the Hospital Wing!


	6. Do You Understand?

Two Little Words

by,

Rtnwriter

 

“You did what?” Ron blurted out, along with a spray of partially chewed bits of food that went flying across the table. Luckily, no one was sitting directly across from him, so the damage was minimal.

“I went to McGonagall about dropping Divination and picking up Ancient Runes,” Harry repeated himself with a small smirk at Hermione’s huff; he could practically hear her saying “Professor McGonagall, Harry.”

Ron gaped at him for a few moments before turning a sharp glare to Hermione.

“This is all your fault,” he snapped at her. “Haven’t been dating a week and you’re changing him.”

“Cut it out, Ron,” Harry shot at his friend. “Hermione didn’t do anything. I decided this on my own.”

“Why  _did_  you decide that, Harry?” Hermione asked him. “Not that I don’t think it’s a great idea. Just… why?”

 _Not as if I can actually say the real reason here,_ he thought. _Not with Ron sitting with us. So, partial truth it is._

He rested his right elbow on the table next to his plate and raised one finger. “First year: Fluffy. Norbert. Quirrelmort.” A second finger joined the first. “Second year: Flophart. Riddle. Basilisk.” A third finger. “This year: Black. Dementors…”

When he trailed off, Ron and Hermione exchanged a look.

“Basically,” he continued, “every year I’ve been here something or someone has tried to kill me, erase my memory or kill me, or devour my soul... and kill me.” He shrugged. “I’ve been lucky to survive each of those instances so far. I can’t count on luck forever, though. I need to start taking things more seriously, take some  _control_  of my education and learn something useful.”

Hermione shifted slightly on the bench next to him and he knew she’d caught the slight emphasis he’d put on the word ‘control’.

“I’m already working on learning how to deal with the Dementors, but I could stand to do better.”

His friend and his girlfriend were both silent for a few minutes, digesting that, rather sobering news.

Finally, Hermione found her voice first. “Why Ancient Runes?” she asked. “Why not Arithmancy, or both?”

Harry made a disgusted face. “I’d have a lot to catch up on just with Ancient Runes,” he explained. “From what I saw when I talked to the Professor, Arithmancy is some advanced math and I’ve just never had a head for numbers. I’d never be able to catch up, I doubt I’d be doing well even if I’d been in the class from the beginning, honestly. And Runes has more practical uses. It’s good for wards and is used in enchanting and a bunch of other things. I figured that was a little better for me than Arithmancy which gets into spell crafting toward NEWT level. With my luck I’d end up creating a spell that’d turn my head ‘round backwards.”

Ron barked out a laugh at that and Hermione nodded along thoughtfully.

“So, what did the Professor say?” she asked.

Harry shrugged. “She said ‘no’.”

“What?!”

Her immediate outrage shifted to confusion when Harry started to laugh. “Well, she said ‘no’ with a few conditions,” he amended, grinning when Hermione actually  _growled_  at him.

“Such as?” she asked.

“Well, she said that since my class performance hasn’t exactly been the best, then she’s going to give me two weeks to show a full grade improvement in my handed in assignments across the board. If I can pull that off then I can ask Professor Babbling if she’ll let me join the class so late in the year. On top of improving all of my other classes, I’ll need to study up on Ancient Runes in order to try to catch up to the rest of the class, at least as much as possible. Another reason not to take Arithmancy on top of everything else I’ll have on my plate.”

“Blimey,” Ron breathed out, wide eyed. “That’s barmy to even try, Mate. No way could anyone pull that off, especially with Snape against you.”

“Ronald, it’s Professor Snape,” Hermione corrected him, but Ron simply ignored her.

“I’m not so sure it’s barmy,” Harry disagreed. “It’s not gonna be easy, but I need to do more than I have been, Ron. I seriously can’t just rely on being lucky anymore. My luck is eventually going to run out.”

With that said, Harry pushed his mostly full plate away, stood, and walked from the Hall, leaving a sputtering redhead and a worried girlfriend behind.

 

##### 

 

Harry told himself that he wasn’t sitting in a quiet, back corner of the Library because he was hiding. The fact that Ron would hardly ever voluntarily enter a Library had nothing to do with his location. It was two hours after he’d walked out of lunch in the Great Hall and he’d spent most of that time sitting right where he was, reviewing the material from the first year textbooks. He  _did_  agree to pull up his grades, and he  _did_  need to put in some work to do it. He knew he was smarter than most people thought, but he also knew that bad habits developed from always being afraid of performing better than Dudley in school meant that he’d long since stopped trying. 

He used to be a pretty good student, he felt, but it wasn’t going to be easy pulling himself back up to that level. It was going to be bloody hard as hell pulling himself up to the level of being someone who might have a hope of actually deserving the trust he’d been shown earlier that day by the beautiful girl in his life. He flushed at the memory of what he’d done to his bushy haired best friend and girlfriend, a title he was still getting used to the idea of her holding, much less the fact that she actually  _wanted_  it.

He couldn’t get over the experience and was of several minds on it. First of all, he could admit to a thrilling sensation, a feeling of… of power, almost, when Hermione would so willingly respond to a command he’d given her. When he’d told her to take off her robes and she hadn’t even hesitated to obey his order, he’d briefly wondered how she’d respond if he kept going, having her remove more of what she’d been wearing beneath the robes. 

He didn’t know what possessed him to touch her the way he did, basically inspecting almost every inch of her body through her clothes, but the way she’d responded… he wasn’t sure if it was just because she was so turned on or a result of the submissive side of her that he was beginning to see more clearly. When he’d gently admonished her for her tone when she spoke to him after he’d asked how she was feeling...she’d looked almost scared but… not scared of him. He couldn’t quite place the stark emotion he’d seen on her face as she’d almost desperately apologized for her mistake and that had excited him just as much as anything else they’d done.

He’d been surprised she hadn’t felt how hard he was under her as he’d held her on his lap. Or if she had, she hadn’t made any indication that she’d noticed. He was starting to understand the draw of the Dominant, the sense of power you had over the person willingly submitting them self to be controlled. He considered how he’d felt throughout their time that day and every memory of her obeying his orders, simple as they were, or the pure joy in her expression when he explained why he wanted to call her ‘Mine’, and he could only come to one conclusion.

 _Yeah,_  he thought.  _That feeling could definitely be habit forming._

He frowned, turning a page in the book he was, ostensibly reading, though much of his attention was elsewhere. How was he supposed to handle things going forward? Eventually… eventually they would get into activities that were certainly more sexual than what he’d done to her so far but… she was his girlfriend. Did she want to do these things with him outside of this dynamic she wanted to build? Or only during it? As her boyfriend, he’d never push her to do something she maybe wasn’t ready for, he was certain he’d follow her lead when it came to that.

But this situation was exactly the opposite. She wanted her boundaries pushed. She wanted to be ordered and controlled. Could he really do that? Would she feel the same about him if he’d ordered her to… oh, something like give him a blow job, or strip naked for him? She seemed determined to keep the two parts of their lives separate from each other, but despite the roles they were set into they were still the same people. Could they be separate for any length of time? Could things outside the dynamic not affect things within it, and vice versa?

He shook his head, resisting the urge to growl in frustration and slammed his book shut, drawing a reproachful look from the ever present Madam Pince. Giving his studies up as a bad job for now, he propped his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands.

There were simply too many questions, and too much that the two of them still needed to discuss before he could truly feel comfortable with where they were, and where they were going. But she said she needed this, and wanted to try it out, so he would do that. He would do whatever he could to help her, even if he wasn’t sure or wasn’t entirely comfortable.

“There you are!”

Harry spun in his seat, his elbow catching the book he’d put down before and sending it crashing to the floor. 

Somewhere in the stacks a voice hissed a shushing sound and Harry cringed back in his seat.

By the time he picked up the book Hermione had taken a seat next to him, barely containing her giggling behind one hand.

“What are you cackling about?” he hissed, poking her side several times with his fingers which set her squirming in her seat to avoid him.

“I just… big bad Potter, faces Dark Lords and giant snakes, but the school Librarian has you scared,” she whispered, her eyes dancing gleefully at him and he let out a snort. 

“Voldemort and the Basilisk were easy, Madam Pince is terrifying!” he whispered loudly and that sent her into another paroxysm of nearly silent giggling, her face slowly turning a darker and darker shade of red as she struggled to stay as quiet as possible.

By the time they got ahold of themselves Harry was feeling lighter than he had in a long while. The simple joy of just laughing with her seemed to wipe the worries from his mind and he just wanted to hold onto that feeling for as long as he could before returning to the stress and frustration of working out what exactly was going on with them. 

“I've been looking for you,” she said, leaning against his side from her chair next to him, her head resting on his shoulder and he frowned, detecting a peculiar note in her voice. Something that told him she was upset, but he couldn’t think of why that might be.

“I’ve been here,” he offered. “Why were you looking for me?”

“Well, when you left I wanted to make sure you were all right. And I wanted to offer to help you with your classes.” She looked at the dozen or so books that he had scattered across the table in front of him. “Looks like you’ve gotten started, at least,” she added, apparently trying to read all of the titles without lifting her head from the very comfortable position she’d found on her boyfriend’s shoulder.

“I decided to read back over the first year material, refresh my mind on the theory since that’s where I have the most trouble. I seem to remember you telling me that once,” he explained.

“Yes, you’ve always been a very intuitive and hands on sort of learner. You may not understand  _why_  a spell works the way it does but if you know  _how_  to do it, there’s not much to stop you. With some things. Unfortunately, things like Transfiguration and Potions really need an understanding of why things work the way they do in order to really get the most out of the magic, and that’s where you run into trouble.”

“So understanding the theory better will help improve my practical spell casting?”

“That’s exactly right,” she said, beaming up at him and she tilted her head back to press a kiss to his neck. “Give me a few minutes to relax here and I’ll help you set up a study schedule and we’ll work out what you need to-”

“No, Hermione,” he cut in, and she jerked away from him slightly in surprise. “I don’t want you doing all that. You’ve got plenty to be worrying about with your own classes without worrying about mine on top of it. I can handle this. I… I think I need to prove to myself that I can do this without any help.”

“Oh.”

He turned to his girlfriend who was looking despondently at the table in front of her, her face showing that she was upset and he was pretty sure it was his fault.

“Hey, if I just keep leaning on you for help, doesn’t that mean that I’m not actually improving on my own? I want… I want to prove that I can actually do this. I’m happy for us to still study together and do our classwork together but… I think I need to put the effort in myself. Does that make sense?”

She looked thoughtful for a bit before her face softened, losing some of the distraught edge it’d held before and she nodded.

“Yes, it does, Harry,” she muttered giving him a small smile. Harry couldn’t help but notice, however, that she still seemed upset about something and he suddenly found himself in a quandary that he couldn’t quite see a way out of. As her boyfriend, as her friend, should he push her on whatever was bothering her? Would she appreciate his interest, or be annoyed that he was prying? 

Immediately his mind flashed to the idea of simply ordering her to tell him what was wrong, but he instantly quashed that idea as ruthlessly as he could. He was not her Dom, here. He didn’t control her, here. And, damn, what did it say about him that the first instance where he wanted to know something one of his first thoughts was to simply demand the answer from her, as if he had a right to it?

Hermione leaned in and kissed his cheek, drawing him enough from his thoughts for him to organize his books and return to the Charms text that he’d been reading before while she dug through her bag and pulled out her Arithmancy work that was due next week.

One cold thought echoed in his mind as the settled in to work. It seemed that already his reactions were changing, shifting to accommodate a new way of thinking, of viewing Hermione as a thing that belonged to him and not as a person with her own agency and free will. It’d only been one day of trying to treat her as she said she wanted to be treated, by him. 

But… what if doing this for her changed him? What if he didn’t like who he was going to become the longer this continued? What if he lost her because of it?

 

##### 

 

“So there were ginger cat hairs in the room!” Hermione practically screamed in a small unused classroom on the seventh floor, not far from the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. Harry was sitting behind the Professor’s desk at the front of the room while she paced back and forth in front of it, her face flushed, arms flailing wildly on occasion as she verbally tore stripes off of the missing red headed wizard that was their closest other friend.

“Crookshanks has been in there plenty of times before. I had him there on Christmas Day when he did try to get at Scabbers. Just because there were ginger colored cat hairs doesn’t mean that Crookshanks did anything, right? Right!”

She didn’t even wait to see if Harry would respond, simply carried on with her tirade. 

The last several days had been… well, wonderful wasn’t really the best word, but they’d certainly been good in some areas. The day of and the day after their meeting to discuss their new arrangement Hermione had noticed that she’d felt very different. She’d felt energized, relaxed. She felt as if all her worries and concerns weren't nearly as daunting and difficult as they had been the day before.

She thought she might be able to chalk part of it up to a mind blowing orgasm, but at the same time she was fully able to admit that she truly did have a submissive side to her, and that side responded very powerfully whenever Harry become forceful or demanding. From Saturday to Sunday that feeling of euphoria had carried her.

Then Monday had come around, and they’d gone back to classes. The first day wasn’t too bad. She’d felt exhausted by the time she went to bed at just past two in the morning after almost having to force Harry to stop waiting with her and go get some sleep of his own. Tuesday, she’d woken bleary eyed and with a mild headache. She’d been slightly irritable, but nothing too bad, luckily. Wednesday had been a little worse. Then there was today. Thursday February 3rd. 

The day had gone as the rest had. She felt more worn down. She was more tired from her lack of sleep and her longer than normal days caused by her trips through time to attend her classes and Harry had been watching her with increasing worry. She’d ploughed through a significant portion of her assignments that evening when Harry had gone to attend his Patronus lessons with Professor Lupin and that had at least left her feeling accomplished. 

Until Harry got back.

Not that that was a problem. No, the problem was what he held in his hands. The Firebolt. The broom she’d gotten confiscated in her worry for him. Everyone else had been thrilled and he was swarmed nearly the minute he came into the Tower with Neville beside him. She did her best to ignore the hubbub as everyone fawned over the broomstick and Ron made more than a few sidelong comments about there having been nothing wrong with it.

Well, there very well could have been, she’d thought at the time, and had even said so, attempting to ignore the stabbing pain that shot through her chest over the memory of the entire fiasco and she could only hope that with the damn thing returned it could finally be put to rest. 

Ron had run upstairs to put the broom away for Harry and just minutes later had come storming back down, screaming at her in the middle of the Common Room that his rat was gone and he’d found ginger cat hairs in the dorm. According to Ronald Bloody Weasley, this was sufficient evidence to accuse  _her_  familiar of eating his useless pet.

“Oooohhh…” she groaned. “There are other cats around this school, and the owls in the owlery. Any one of them could easily have eaten a rat. Why’d he even have that disgusting thing here anyway? Our school letter said students could bring a cat,  _or_  an owl,  _or_  a toad. Never once was a rat mentioned as an acceptable pet to bring to school!”

She finally stopped, panting slightly and feeling just a bit lighter before she turned to find her boyfriend still sitting at the desk, hunched over the map. It didn’t appear as if he was paying any attention to her whatsoever and she frowned at that. She didn’t think he had to fawn attention over her or anything like that, but she did feel it wasn’t unreasonable to expect a bit of attention and understanding over a situation like this.

“Harry?” she asked, a bit sharply and he jerked in his seat, looking up at her in surprise. “Are you even listening to me?” she asked, her arms crossed over her breasts as she leveled her second best glare at him. Her best glare was reserved for a certain redhead she refused to think of any longer!

“Ummm… not really, at the moment,” he admitted, almost sheepishly, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck in an unconscious gesture she’d seen him use dozens of times before. “I was a little distracted here but… I think you’ll like why.” His attention moved back to the map.

Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt since, really, it wasn’t Harry that she was upset with, she let her arms drop to her sides and resumed her pacing, grumbling irritably under her breath for several minutes.

“Okay,” Harry said, leaning back in the seat after he’d cleared and folded up the map. “We’re gone, it’s…” he glanced at his watch, “fifteen minutes until curfew. We need to get back to the Tower and you need to get a change of clothes.”

Hermione stumbled to a halt, her anger melting away into a sudden confusion at the seemingly random non-sequitur. 

“What?” she blurted out.

He stood and moved around the desk, eyeing her for a few moments before nodding his head.

“Mine,” he said. “Right now I’m not asking you anything. You’re tired, you’re stressed, and you’re upset and frustrated. You’ve got dark circles under your eyes that I can see from here. So here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to forget about Ron Weasley and his problems. You’re going to forget about classes. You’re not going to worry about assignments. Right now you have only one thing to worry about or concern yourself with, and that is doing exactly what I tell you to do. Do you understand?”

Hermione stared at him blankly for several moments, her surprise robbing her momentarily of the ability to respond as she attempted to catch up to the sudden and dramatic shift in direction that Harry had just taken. 

A moment later he sighed in apparent disappointment and pushed off of the desk he’d been leaning against before he walked up to her until they were barely a few inches apart. In that moment, amazingly enough, Harry appeared to  _loom_  over her, despite the fact that he was only just barely an inch taller than she was. She felt a sudden sense of trepidation at the hard look in his eyes and the firm set of his jaw.

“I said, ‘Do you understand?’” he asked, his voice low and commanding and for another few seconds her mouth worked silently as she attempted to respond. He suddenly leaned even closer to her, his cheek sliding across hers until his lips were by her ear and she let out a startled squeak as he moved. 

“The words you’re looking for,  _Mine_ , are ‘Yes, Sir,’” he whispered, his breath brushing hot across the shell of her ear, sending a tingling shiver down her spine.

“Y-yes, Sir,” she stammered.

“Good,” he said, brightly, as he pulled back to smile at her. Suddenly turning on his heel he started to walk away and she found herself scrambling to keep up with him. “When we get to the Tower go pack a bag and do it quickly. All you really need to bring with you is your Time Turner and whatever clothes you normally sleep in. Do you understand, Mine?”

“Yes, Sir.”

What in the hell was happening? She couldn’t understand how this had so quickly shifted from her pissed off and ranting about… what’s-his-name, to suddenly she was tottering along, obediently following behind him to go off and do who knew what. But really… wasn’t this exactly what she wanted? To not have to make decisions? To have a moment where the choices were taken from her and she had nothing to do but simply follow orders? 

Before she realized where they were, they were passing through the portrait hole into the lightly populated Common Room and Harry glanced at his watch before he turned to her. “You have five minutes, Mine,” he told her. “Better hurry.”

Eyes wide, she only nodded and hurried off to do as she’d been told. It wasn’t until she reached the door leading into her dorm that she suddenly stopped as a thought clicked into place in her head. He was doing that on purpose! The haste, the constant use of that commanding tone and calling her, Mine. He threw her off balance with the sudden shift in circumstance and he was keeping her off balance by not giving her time to think and collect herself. 

She pushed open the door and hurried over to her trunk, pulling out a clean set of knickers and one of the tight plain t-shirts she typically wore to bed, stuffing them into a small knapsack. Really, did she care that that’s what he was doing? Or that she’d figured it out? She glanced at her watch, a broad grin spreading across her lips. Nope. She didn’t care in the slightest, and she had two minutes left to get back downstairs.

She hurried out of the dorm, reaching the bottom of the stairs just as Harry stepped off the last step from the staircase leading up to the Boy’s Dorms, his book bag slung over one shoulder. Without pause he approached and pulled her into a hug in order to whisper in her ear, “ready?”

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered back and he pulled back to take her hand and lead her toward the exit. Slipping out of the Tower was ridiculously simple as, just as they reached the portrait, it opened, letting the Weasley twins into the room.

“Little late to be heading out, isn’t it, Harrykins?” one of them said, a smirk on his lips as the two of them moved to pass by the two redheads.

“No worries, boys. We’ll be back by curfew,” Harry said before giving them a jaunty sort of wave as he led her out of the Tower. Once in the corridor he pulled his father’s cloak from his pocket and threw it over them, pulling her tight against him to make sure the cloak would completely cover them both.

They moved fairly quickly through the castle and in seemingly no time at all they were approaching the door to their classroom. To her surprise, however, Harry didn’t direct them into the room. Instead he led her to an alcove down the hall and gently pushed her into it, her back pressed against the wall as he stood so close that she could feel the warmth radiating off of his body.

“How would you take someone back in time with you with the Time Turner?” he suddenly asked and she blinked, pulling herself from her slightly dazed state to peer intently up into his eyes.

“What do you mean?” she asked and he shook his head in exasperation.

“I know you can, Mine. Don’t worry I’ll explain how I know, later. Right now I just want to know how and how you determine how many hours back you go.”

Well, she reasoned, she had already told him about the Turner, explaining how it worked wasn’t any more of a problem.

“I’d have to loop the chain over both our necks, it should stretch actually to accommodate and then each single turn of the hourglass equates to one full hour.”

He nodded, considering that for a moment.

“All right. I need you to trust me, please, Mine. You need to take us back eight hours.”

Hermione paused again, and this time Harry didn’t push or admonish her for her hesitance. It seemed ridiculous. Eight hours? They could get into so much trouble for something like that. Not only with the school but with the Department of Mysteries, and that was if they didn’t do something stupid that ended up wiping them from existence. Messing around with time was dangerous and that was why she had been given very strict rules on what she could do. Rules she’d already broken once in order to apologize to Harry about the Firebolt.

She knew Harry Potter, however. He didn’t make idle requests. He didn’t make thoughtless decisions. Yes, he frequently leaped into danger without thinking, but this… this all spoke of planning and consideration. This wasn’t something he’d considered or thought up on the fly so what exactly was going on?

In the end, she knew there really was only one decision to make, so she pulled the chain from beneath her robes, looped it over Harry’s neck as well, and lifted the hourglass, carefully counting back eight turns before she looked up into his eyes, and let go.

The dark alcove where they stood dissolved around them. Hermione had the sensation that she was flying very fast, backward as a blur of colors and shapes rushed past her, her ears were pounding and she simply held tight to Harry’s solid presence waiting for it to stop— 

And then she felt solid ground beneath her feet, and everything came into focus again —

“Ugh,” she groaned, pulling the chain from around Harry’s neck as she tucked the Time Turner back under her robes. “I will never get used to that, no matter how many times I do it.”

“Come on,” Harry muttered, pulling her from the alcove and directing her back to their classroom where he pushed open the door and ushered her inside. Once within the room he whipped the cloak off of them and let the door swing silently shut, quickly casting the locking spell she’d used on Saturday and the door sealed itself with a loud squelching sound.

“All right, Mine,” he said, gesturing to the desks. “Have a seat.”

Silently she followed the simple order, her mind spinning as she tried to figure out just what to expect from him. The entire walk down, as brief as it had seemed, her mind had been flooded by her recollection of the last time they’d been in this room and the many and varied sensations she’d experienced while they were here. 

But now… now things were different. They’d gone eight hours back in time. They were basically stuck in this room for the next eight hours. The risk of running into their past selves was too great if they tried to leave so what exactly was going on here? What was he expecting to do with that much time on their hands? Also, was she honestly ready for whatever it might be?

She wanted to ask a question. She wanted to ask a dozen questions, actually, but she wasn’t sure what to ask first, or even if she was allowed to speak. He hadn’t specifically told her to keep silent so…

While she’d been thinking Harry had shucked off his robes, leaving them draped across the Professor’s Desk and he pulled the chair out from behind it and carried it around to set it in front of the desk. Turning, he leaned back against the desk itself, ignoring the chair for the moment and simply stared at her for nearly a minute in complete silence.

Just as she opened her mouth to speak, he beat her to it.

“Do you know why we’re here, Mine?” he asked and she blinked, quickly attempting to shift mental gears from asking to answering.

“I… I imagine you are looking to hold our first actual session since we went over the basics of how we want… how we want all of this to work,” she said after a few moments, gesturing to the room around them and then between him and herself with one hand.

“You imagine correctly. But first, I would like to discuss a few more things before we start.”

“Harry, why did you want us to-"

She cut off when he suddenly pushed off the desk and grabbed the back of the wooden chair next to him with one hand. Taking two steps forward his arm came around, spinning the chair about until the back was facing her and she jumped when the legs landed on the stone floor with a loud ‘CRACK’.  He quickly dropped into the seat, straddling the chair with his arms crossed on the back of it. 

He was barely five feet away from her and his face was set into hard lines. His jaw slightly tense, brow minutely furrowed as he stared at her. 

“I believe I told you that you aren't to worry about anything but doing what I tell you to do. Didn't I?” he asked and she found herself nodding rapidly in response. “I promise you, I’ll explain everything later. For right now, don’t worry about it.”

She nodded again, her eyes dropping to the desk in front of her. “I’m sorry, Sir,” she whispered, suddenly ashamed at herself for forgetting her place. This entire thing had been her idea. Harry might have inadvertently set her on the path to finding it, but deciding to pursue this dynamic had been entirely her decision and already she was making far too many mistakes for her liking. 

“Mine, look at me,” he said in a gentle tone that somehow still carried with it a note of command and she reluctantly lifted her head to meet his gaze. “You know I would do nearly anything for you, right?” he asked, his eyes showing something she found absolutely baffling, given the situation they were in.

Indecision.

Despite how… well, how in control he’d been this entire time, it was clear that he still wasn’t entirely certain, he was still struggling to find the mindset he needed, the headspace to simply take command and she suddenly felt an almost surreal sense of understanding. 

Harry was trying. 

He was trying with everything he had to give her exactly what she’d asked for, despite his inexperience, his early reticence and his personal issues with the entire concept stemming from his treatment by his relatives. With nearly everything against him, he was still trying and she hadn’t been putting in nearly the same effort thus far.

Sitting up straighter in her seat, she kept her gaze steady, resolving to show him this was what she wanted and he was doing exactly what she’d asked as she nodded in response to his question. “I know, Sir. And I would do the same for you, if you needed me to.”

“If you don’t want to continue this, just say the word, we’ll just hang out and relax until it’s time to go back to the Tower.”

Her hair flew wildly about, such was the force with which she shook her head against that idea. “No. No, Sir. I do want this. I want us to at least try and see if we can find the right dynamic for us. I don’t want to just give up so quickly. I’m sorry I was… I was unprepared, and I messed up. Please, let’s keep going.”

He gave her nearly a minute. Whether to change her mind or just to see how she would react to him staring at her in complete silence, she wasn't sure. Eventually, though, he nodded again and his eyes hardened once more, showing the powerful wizard she knew existed inside him. 

“All right, then,” he said in a soft, even tone of voice. “Okay, right now you’re going to learn something, Mine. I’ll explain why, later.”

She frowned but nodded, remembering her place and to question her Dom wasn’t a part of it. She was determined not to continue screwing up and to show him that she really did want this. Her focus was devoted entirely to watching him as he stood and pulled the chair back a few feet before he drew his wand and cast a spell at the stone floor halfway between the chair and where she was sitting. 

“Get on your knees, Mine,” he said, and she was half way out of her chair, intent on perfectly following his orders before  _what_  he’d said fully registered and for half a moment she froze. She recovered quickly, though her face was burning as brightly as it ever had as she dropped to her knees on the floor. It was only once she was settled that she realized the spell he’d cast had been a cushioning charm to protect her knees from the hard stone and a flood of gratitude rushed through her at the thoughtfulness of that simple action, a smile lighting up her face without her even realizing it. 

Over the next few minutes he directed her in how he wanted her to position herself until eventually she was kneeling with her feet close together, her back straight, and her knees spread slightly wider than shoulder width. Her arms were behind her back with her arms crossed at the wrists and her eyes directed to the floor in front of her.

“You can look down or forward,” Harry told her and she nodded but kept her eyes on the floor as she considered the position she was in. With her back straight as it was, her breasts were thrust forward and with her knees spread… if she hadn’t been fully clothed her body would have been completely on display to him where he stood in front of her. As that realization struck home she found herself simultaneously burning with embarrassment even as she practically dripped with arousal at the thought of being so exposed. 

“I’m going to step outside, Mine,” he said. “While I’m gone I want you to change into your sleepwear and be back in this position before I come back in the room. Do you understand?”

 _Oh sweet Merlin,_  she thought,  _he’ll be able to see…_

“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, her breath catching in her throat.

In front of her, she heard him move away toward the door then the sound of removing the locking spell. “Five minutes, Mine.” The door opened then clicked quietly closed and she was alone in the room. 

Letting an anxious whimper escape her, she quickly got to her feet and hurried over to the knapsack she'd packed her sleep attire into and pulled out the two articles of clothing. With her time ticking away she didn't have a moment to think. No time to worry if the simple pair of white boy short knickers were sexy or boring. No time to worry that her achingly stiff nipples would be clearly visible through her shirt. No time to even think about being embarrassed, though she certainly felt it. She simply stripped out of her clothes as quickly as she could and redressed before hurrying over to the spot where Harry had cast the cushioning charm.

She took her spot, carefully making certain that she was positioned correctly and lowered her eyes to the floor just as the door clicked open.

 

##### 

 

The door shut behind Harry and he leaned against it for a moment, letting out a deep breath before one hand came up to rub across his face. Keeping up the act was a lot harder than he’d expected it to be. His worries over the entire situation didn’t make it any easier, either, as he vacillated back and forth from nearly reveling in the effect he was having on her, to feeling slightly disgusted with himself over how he was treating her.

Her argument about choice had made sense. It really had. But there was a difference between understanding something and believing it and at the moment Harry was still having a bit of trouble believing that what he was doing to his girlfriend wasn’t wrong in some way. And just how much he was enjoying doing it was even worse. 

“Get it together, Potter,” he muttered, pushing himself away from the door. “You’ll have plenty of time, soon enough, to worry about all of this and try to get your head on straight. Right now she needs you to keep in control.”

He took another few deep breaths, calming himself as best he could before he looked at a spot on the floor a few feet from him and quietly called out, “Dobby.”

With a loud crack the excitable House Elf he’d met the previous year suddenly appeared in front of him, just as eccentrically dressed as he’d been, or would be, later in the day when Harry first found him.

Ugh, time travel hurts my brain, he thought, frowning over the confusing direction of his thoughts.

“The Great Harry Potter, Sir calls for Dobby?” Dobby squeaked, bouncing in place several times. “Harry Potter, Sir is an even greater wizard than Dobby thought, to know that Dobby was here at Hogywarts!”

“Well, I didn’t know, actually, Dobby,” Harry corrected him, smiling down at the vibrating little figure. “I actually will be running into you in the kitchens for the first time in a few hours. When I met you then, you said that you helped me out here earlier in the day, which would be now. Think you can help?”

Dobby looked extremely confused but he heard the word ‘help’ and apparently decided that everything else was superfluous information as he nodded his head rapidly up and down, his bulbous green eyes wider than Harry’d ever seen them.

“Yes, Harry Potter, Sir! Dobby cans be helping. What can Dobby be doing?”

“I need you to put a bed inside this classroom, here,” Harry explained, indicating the door behind him. “But you can’t go in there. My girlfriend is in there and she is changing her clothes. Can you get the bed in one corner of the room behind her without her knowing and without you actually going in there, yourself?”

More rapid nodding, his head almost a blur, was the little elf’s response.

“Dobby cans,” he crowed gleefully. “Dobby cans be doing that for the Great Harry Potter, Sir and his Missy Miney.”

Harry smiled and reached out to pat Dobby on the shoulder. “Thank you, Dobby. You’re a real pal. I’ve gotta get back in there so can you go ahead and do that? I’ll be seeing you later in the kitchens, but remember, I won’t have any idea that you’re here or that we met now. And please, don’t tell anyone other than me that you did this, okay?”

Dobby didn’t answer but he nodded, and a moment later vanished with another loud crack and Harry blew out another breath.

“Damn, it’s exhausting just talking to him. Little guy has way too much energy.”

After checking the battered old watch that he’d stolen from his cousin years ago, Harry realized that he really  _did_  need to get back into the room as Hermione’s five minutes were just about up. He took a deep breath, stood as tall and seemingly confident as he could, and opened the door. 

He kept his gaze away from the center of the room when he entered, taking a moment to close and seal the door again before he turned and finally looked at her where she was kneeling on the floor, just as he’d instructed her.

 _Bloody fucking hell!_  He thought, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head at the sight of her. The soft, baby blue t-shirt she had on looked as if it might have been at least a size too small for her frame as it seemed to hug the curves of her breasts almost like a second skin. Even from where he stood across the room, he could easily make out the hardened points of her nipples pressing against the thin fabric and he nearly instantly hardened in his trousers as his eyes moved over her body.

Never a particularly athletic girl, preferring to spend her time reading or studying, the countless stairs around the castle had still seen to it that her legs were finely toned, encased in incredibly soft looking creamy skin and Harry’s hands twitched at his sides as he remembered running his hands over her jean clad legs, feeling the muscles in her thighs tightening at his touch. For a half a second he thought she wasn’t wearing anything but the shirt until he slowly moved closer and realized she had on a small, white pair of knickers that did little to truly preserve her modesty in the presence of a teenage boy.

The position he’d put her in gave him a clear view to her center and as he slowly sank into the chair he’d been using before, he could distinctly see a small damp spot on the front of her knickers, clear evidence as to the state of her arousal. 

He shook his head, firmly taking a mental hold of himself and drew his wand, casting a warming charm over her since the room was still quite cool. A small sigh escaped her as the charm took effect and he had to shift slightly in his seat to get more comfortable.

 _This is not the time,_  he thought.  _You had a specific purpose for bringing her here. Get on with it, Potter._

He carefully cleared his throat, sitting back in the chair with his hands resting on his thighs.

“Mine, look at me.”

Slowly she lifted her head, her wild hair beautifully framing her flushed face, until she met his eyes. They remained that way for several long seconds before Harry suddenly smirked, unable to help himself as that same thrilling sense of power hummed through his body.

“I think I like you like this, Mine,” he said. “Blushing and so obviously turned on. You’ve never looked more beautiful.”

She ducked her head, but kept eye contact with him. “Thank you, Sir,” she murmured. 

He shifted again in his seat and for a moment her eyes darted down toward his lap, widening a second later and shooting back up to his face and he had to fight the urge to cross his legs. It was only fair, he decided, since he could see how turned on she was getting that she knew just what she did to him. 

Harry thought carefully for several moments on how he wanted to proceed. Almost immediately he decided to do away with several thoughts he’d had as he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get through them with her looking like that. So he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs with his hands clasped in front of him, determined to move onto the main reason he’d instigated this particular session.

“Originally, I’d planned to have a bit of a discussion here, Mine,” he admitted. “I wasn’t expecting you to be wearing so… little, however.”

Her face twisted into a slight frown.

“You’re just incredibly distracting, kneeling there like that. So, I think I’ll save our discussion for later. For right now I want you to stand and turn around. Look over in the far corner and tell me what you see.”

Obediently she stood, hesitating slightly before she turned, presenting a stellar view of her arse that had him tightly clenching his fists as she looked over into the corner.

“I-I see a b-bed, Sir,” she stammered out.

He stood and picked up his book bag off the Professor’s desk where he’d left it before he moved over and reached out to take her hand. She jumped at the initial contact but quickly settled, holding his hand firmly as he led her across the room to the bed Dobby had provided. It was a full bed with a simple headboard, not one of the large four poster beds that they had in their dorms, and it was covered with a Gryffindor colored red and gold comforter.

Dropping his bag on the floor he let go of her hand and pulled back the comforter and the sheets before he turned to her and gestured to the bed.

“Lay down, Mine,” he ordered as calmly as he could, trying to pretend that his heart wasn’t attempting to hammer its way out of his chest. By the way she was shifting her weight and fidgeting, he 

could tell she was nervous. Her actions weren’t the same as when she was just turned on and her eyes clearly showed the uncertainty and apprehension she was feeling. “Trust me,” he said, taking her hand again and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Lay down.”

She looked up from where her eyes had fallen to their clasped hands, giving him a long searching look before she complied, gingerly climbing into the bed and moving toward the middle, laying down on her back, her hair splayed out across the pillows. 

When he grabbed the sheet and comforter and pulled them up her body to her neck she looked even more confused than ever as he set about tucking her into bed. 

“Sir?” she asked.

“I brought you here for one, very specific reason, Mine,” he told her, dropping to his knees beside the bed so he could lean his elbows on the edge of the mattress. He reached out and brushed a stray curl of her hair away from her face, letting his hand trail down the side of her face to cup her cheek. “You’re exhausted. You’re pushing yourself too hard and right now, I only have one order that I want you to obey. That is to get some sleep.”

She gaped at him for several moments in shock her mouth working soundlessly several times before she was able to formulate any words.

“Sleep?” she asked, incredulously. “You want… you want me to sleep, Sir?”

He nodded, giving her a warm smile. “I do. Right now, more than anything, I want you to sleep.”

“But… I thought…” she trailed off her face shifting from one expression to another so rapidly he couldn’t quite make sense of them.

“You thought I wanted us to… to sleep together?” he offered, shying away momentarily from the more direct terms as he felt himself losing some of that control he’d been holding tightly to.

“Well… you got a bed in here, something I’d love to know how you managed and… well I’ve already told you what I’m willing to do with you,” she finished, blushing brilliantly again.

“I know, and believe me I’m very, very tempted. But… you know that, as your Dom, my role isn’t  _just_  to give you orders to follow, right? I’m not here just to control you.”

She frowned again, confusion replacing embarrassment once more.

“You’ve given me a responsibility,” he tried to explain. Sighing he ran one hand back through his hair and he frowned thoughtfully, attempting to put his thoughts into words that would actually make sense to someone other than him. “My role is to teach and train, from what I understand. Teach you how I want you to behave and train you to behave in that way. That’s how I understand it, at least. I’m fairly sure we’re both getting some things wrong but we’re doing the best we can, right?” he asked and she nodded, silently urging him to continue.

“Well, the way I see it, I not only have a responsibility to teach and train but also to protect you. You’ve put yourself in a vulnerable position and given me something beyond value. The trust you have in me is a gift and I don’t have any intention of taking it for granted, not how I’ve taken you for granted the last couple of years. As your Dom, I see protecting you as part of my responsibility to you, and right now you need protecting from yourself. So, I want you to sleep. And I decided that if ordering you to get some rest was the only way to get you to do it, then that’s what I was going to do.”

Her confused expression had softened while he’d talked, a small smile curving her lips. Her arm wormed its way out from under the blankets and she reached out to caress the side of his face, her fingers ghosting lightly over his skin. 

“We’re not quite getting this, are we?” she asked and he shrugged, unconsciously leaning his head toward her hand. She gently stroked his cheek for a moment before she pulled her hand away and turned onto her side beneath the blankets, her eyes fixed on his face. “All right, Sir,” she whispered. “I’ll sleep, as ordered. But… can I ask a question, first?”

“Of course, Mine.”

“If your goal was to get me to sleep… why did you go about getting me so turned on?”

He felt his lips twist into a smirk and he stood, moving away to pull a chair close by the bed. “You were so upset earlier. Rightfully so. I hadn’t planned on things going exactly as they did, honestly, but I decided, while you were ranting, that you needed something to distract you.” He dropped into the chair and looked over at her. “Have you been worried and upset since this started?”

She considered that for a moment before her eyes slowly widened and his smirk morphed into a full blown grin.

“Problems will wait,” he told her, reaching down to pull his Transfiguration text from his bag. “For right now, no more questions. No more talking. Relax and just rest. I’ll be right here, protecting you, and I’ll wake you in a few hours.”

With that, he opened his book and began to read, letting a comfortable silence settle over the room broken only by the occasional sound of him turning a page in his book.

When he looked up at her half-an-hour later, she was sound asleep and he smiled for a moment before he turned his attention back to his studies.

 

##### 

 

Cinnamon colored eyes opened slowly and she rolled from her side onto her back, stretching languidly beneath her blankets as she became more and more alert. She could tell, immediately, that her rest hadn’t been exceptionally long, but she felt better than she had in some time for it and a soft smile spread across her face. 

 _I can’t believe he actually ordered me to sleep,_  she thought fondly of the young man she’d placed her trust in. The fact that he had taken the opportunity to care for her, instead of satisfying his own wants or needs just further proved in her mind that he was the best choice for her. She had never felt so safe and loved as she had with him sitting by her bed, watching over her, except when she was with her parents, the only other people in the world who she knew  _truly_  cared about her.

“Hey, Beautiful.”

Her smile grew into a broad grin as the voice reached her ears and she rolled onto her side again to face him. He was still sitting in the chair where she’d last seen him, looking for all the world as if he hadn’t moved from that spot the entire time she was asleep. She doubted that was true, he had to have gotten up at some point, even if just to stretch, but that warm feeling flooded her chest again as she thought of him sitting by her bedside the whole time, keeping a protective vigil while she slept.

“Hey,” she whispered, too overcome with emotion to speak any louder lest she break that fragile bubble that surrounded her, the warm cocoon of safety that he’d created just by his presence.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked, concern clear on his face and in his tone and she realized that she wasn’t dealing with Harry Potter, Dom, but with her boyfriend by his posture and the set of his expression. 

“Wonderful, actually,” she responded. “I don’t think I’ve ever slept so well.”

His smile was probably the broadest she’d ever seen him produce and that alone brought another smile to her face.

“Good.” He glanced to the side for a moment before turning back to her. “Feel like getting up? I got some food brought in and we could sit and talk over everything?”

Nodding she sat up, noticing out of the corner of her eye how he flushed and turned away slightly, which reminded her of the tight shirt she was wearing, bringing a flush of her own to her cheeks. Absently, she found it a touch fascinating that he’d only really blushed a few times earlier when he was busy taking her breath away with the forceful presence he was able to muster but now he seemed just like his regular self, an inexperienced, nervous teen, just like she was.

It felt… nice, to know that she could affect him that way.

“I’ll step outside again so you can get dressed,” he muttered, setting his book aside so he could follow word with deed and leave the room.

“You don’t need to leave,” she blurted out before she knew she was going to say it and he turned a shocked expression toward her.

“Uhhh…” was his response to that and she giggled slightly at his flummoxed expression. 

“Really,” she insisted. “I’ll admit, it might be a bit embarrassing but you more than anyone are allowed to look at me.”

He seemed to consider that for a minute before he gave her a soft smile and shook his head. “No. I’ll turn my back, at least. I think I want to save seeing you like that for some time a little more meaningful.”

Realizing she likely wouldn’t get anywhere trying to argue with him she simply nodded and he turned away, moving over to where a small table had been set up with two covered plates resting on its surface. At the foot of the bed, she found her clothes, laid out neatly and she quickly dressed, pulling her skirt up over her hips and switching her t-shirt for her bra and the loose blouse she’d been wearing earlier in the day. Socks and shoes went on after that and she stuffed the soiled pair of her knickers in one of her robes pockets before she draped them over the back of the chair he’d been sitting in.

Walking up behind him she set one hand on his shoulder and he turned, smiling brightly for a moment before he leaned in to give her a soft kiss, his lips brushing against hers.

 _Hmmmm…_  she thought,  _that just won’t do._

Her hands came up to wrap around his shoulders, one hand tangling in his messy hair as she eagerly deepened the kiss. Every kiss they’d shared up till that point, save their first, had been gentle, loving, and relatively chaste, and while those were pleasant and wonderful, she was rapidly learning that she wanted more from Harry. Earlier, she hadn’t been against the idea of having sex with him as she’d originally thought was his plan, she’d only been nervous and anxious over the idea of such a new experience.

She opened her mouth slightly, letting her tongue dart out to tease the seam of his lips and he gasped in surprise, his lips parting just enough for her to slip her tongue into his mouth. For about the first thirty seconds or so their tongues danced lightly around each other, exploring this new way of expressing their affection and desire.

As with their first kiss, Harry’s arms wrapped around her, one hand tangling in her long hair, this time giving a sharp tug that drew a slightly pained gasp from her and their positions suddenly changed as he took a commanding control over the kiss. All Hermione could do was hold onto him as he explored her mouth, giving herself over completely to the sensations running through her.

When they finally parted, panting for air, she let out a low hum as his fingers gently rubbed her scalp, soothing the stinging ache from his pulling her hair.

“Sorry,” he muttered breathlessly, his forehead resting against hers. “I didn't mean to pull your hair like that.

“You don't have to apologize. I actually kind of liked it,” she assured him, her eyes still closed as she simply enjoyed feeling him close to her, his arms still wrapped firmly around her body. 

Eventually, they pulled away and Harry took her hand, leading her over to the table. The light meal was spent in quiet conversation, discussing school, hobbies, interests outside of the wizarding world and Hermione shocked to realize that, as well as they knew each other, there were still so many things left to learn. She’d never known, for example, that Harry used to love to read. Books were about the only presents his cousin had ever received that he’d had no interest in and Harry had been able to sneak them away and read for a while when he was younger.

She talked more about her life growing up how she’d fallen in love with reading and the many and varied worlds they took her too as a young, friendless child. They had been an escape for her, a way to avoid the less pleasant kids in her school and lose herself in beloved characters and settings, far removed from her own. She talked about her parents and the support and care they’d shown her growing up and, instead of getting sad at the memory of his own parents, Harry had been fascinated, asking question after question and seemed quite eager to meet them properly one day. 

“I have to ask,” she said as they finished eating and the dishes vanished with a series of soft pops. “How did you set all this up? The bed? Dinner? How were you so sure we could even get away with this?”

Harry’s grin was more than a little smug and the sight of it did some funny things to her insides that Hermione found she quite enjoyed.

“I knew we could get away with it because we already had,” he said causing her no small amount of confusion so he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table to explain.

“Earlier this afternoon I was looking at the Marauders Map. I thought I’d seen a name on it a few weeks ago that shouldn’t have been there so I was trying to see if I could spot him again when I saw the two of us, in this room. That didn’t make a bit of sense to me at first. I took a study break and decided to head down to the kitchens and see about grabbing a snack, figured if we were still on the map by the time I finished I would go investigate, and guess who I ran into down there?”

“Who?” she asked.

“Dobby. Remember the House Elf I told you about last year? He works here in the kitchens now. He was really excited when I came into the kitchens going on about how amazing it was that I’d come to see him twice in one day. Except I  _hadn’t_  seen Dobby before, I didn’t even know he was here so that confused me even more. Eventually he explained that I had called to him at a little before three o’clock this afternoon and asked him for some help. He said I’d asked for a bed to be placed in the room here and he was going to be bringing us something to eat in a couple of hours.

“Remember when I wasn’t paying very close attention when you were upset in that classroom by the tower? I was watching the two of us here in the room.”

“You said ‘we’re gone’,” she quoted, suddenly remembering and piecing together the details. “You saw us leaving the room, didn’t you?”

He nodded, grinning brightly. “We leave this room at a quarter to ten. By the time we get up to the Tower we should be just in time to let our past selves go by on their way down here and we can take off my dad’s cloak and just walk right back into the Tower, just in time for curfew.”

Hermione was stunned. It was a brilliant plan, simple in execution, but brilliant. 

“That was very well thought out,” she complimented him and he blushed slightly, shrugging his shoulders dismissively. 

“I doubt it’ll work too often in the future, but I’m sure we can use the same idea now and then to get some extra time ourselves if we really need to. I know you’d rather not abuse the Time Turner but…” He trailed off, shrugging again and she tucked the thought away for future consideration. Who knew? He could be right and it might not be such a bad idea to get some time alone with him.

“Do you mind if I ask a question?” he asked.

She cocked her head slightly to one side, giving him a curious look at the sudden hesitance in his voice. “Of course, Harry.”

“Well… you’ve explained that you felt you were submissive, and I’ve seen enough to believe that, now. You explained why you think it might help, which we saw earlier when I was able to distract you. I get all that, to an extent. What I haven’t been able to figure out is made you look for this in particular? How did you even know about it?”

She straightened up, suddenly grinning at the memory that had started her on this particular journey. 

“It was your fault, actually,” she said, grinning again when he gave her a blank look. 

“My fault? How is it my fault?”

“The night before I left to go home for the holidays. Do you remember that you ordered me to find some way to deal with my stress?”

He nodded. “Right, in the Common Room.”

“And what did I say to that?”

He frowned as he thought over the question for a moment before he looked at her again. “‘Yes, Sir’?” he asked.

She nodded. “And then you cupped my chin with your hand and you said ‘Good girl’.” She shrugged, leaning back in her seat. “When you said that… those two little words made me feel… something I couldn’t define and I didn’t understand. It was so bad…” She paused, flushing brilliantly but pushed forward. “It was so bad that I actually had to get myself off three times before I could even get to sleep. And that was the first time I was thinking of you while I did that. That's why I couldn't really look at you the next day, I was so embarrassed.”

The appraising look on Harry’s face when she said that had her flushing even more and she lowered her eyes to the table, unable to meet his gaze.

“At home I spent days searching my local library for books on psychology and sexuality, trying to figure out why I’d reacted that way. Why just two words had had such a strong impact on me. Before I came back, the Librarian, Missus Markell gave me a Christmas present. The four books we’ve been using and a letter. She wrote that she’d guessed, based on the books I was checking out, something about me and she gave me the books to make sure I had some reliable information instead of possibly finding out something wrong from another source.

“She also told me that I would need a partner and that I should be extremely cautious in who I chose. That was on Christmas Day and it took me three weeks of reading and arguing with myself to admit the truth. Once I did, though, I decided I wanted to try and there was absolutely no one I could trust other than you to help me.”

When she finished, Harry remained silent for a time, turning over her answer in his mind several times before he let out a long, slow breath.

“Two  _little_  words,” he muttered. “It’s amazing to me, that two little words could start something so…” He trailed off, waving one hand in a helpless way, as if he couldn’t quite find the words he was looking for. She understood his point, however, and gave a meaningful nod of her own.

A minute later there was a visible shift in her boyfriend. His expression hardened, a tightening around his jaw and eyes that was subtle and easily missed save for the fact that she knew him so well. His posture changed as well, shoulders coming back as his back straightened slightly as if he were drawing himself up to seem as tall as he could and she knew, immediately, that she was dealing with her Sir again.

“Before your nap, I mentioned a discussion I’d wanted to have,” he said and even his voice had changed in simple ways she couldn’t quite put a name to.

“Yes, Sir,” she responded as her heart picked up its beat a touch in response to him.

He stood and moved away from the table, back out into the center of the room where he cast a cushioning charm at the floor again, five feet in front of his chair. Turning back to her he pointed to the spot where he’d cast the spell and said, simply, “you know the position, Mine.”

As quickly as she could without running, she made her way over to her place and settled down on her knees, taking a moment to ensure she was properly positioned before raising her head to look at Harry. While she’d been getting in place he’d taken his seat in the chair, right leg crossed over his left knee at the ankle, hands resting in his lap as he watched her.

“Good girl,” he said and she shivered as that warm, flushed sensation cascaded through her body again. It had been almost two months since the night he first said those two little words to her and now that she understood, the feelings they created were more powerful than ever.

“The other day we each signed a contract that we drafted, together. Do you remember that?” he asked quietly, his eyes fixed intently on hers.

She frowned, wondering where he was going with this but answered the question as quickly as she could. “Yes, Sir. I remember.”

“We included some fairly basic rules in that contract, didn’t we?”

“Yes, Sir, we did.”

“Can you tell me, then, which of those rules that you broke earlier before your nap?”

At that, Hermione winced, realizing she really had been making a hash of this and she straightened up even further in her position as her mind whirled back over the rules they’d listed. There hadn’t been a huge number of them since they wanted to start easy and work things up as they went so it didn’t take her long to identify exactly which rules she’d broken.

“‘When given an order by the Dom, the sub is to respond quickly and without hesitation or question’,” she quoted. “I hesitated, twice in the classroom by the tower when you asked if I understood your order. ‘When in session, the sub is to refer to the Dom as ‘Sir’ at all times.’ I called you by name at least once. I also hesitated and questioned you when you asked about my Time Turner and when you told me to get some sleep.”

By the time she’d finished she appeared to have shrunk in on herself, her head lowered and her shoulders hunched inward, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. She had never felt quite so ashamed of herself, not even when Professor McGonagall had given her a detention in their first year. She’d always prided herself on following the rules, and these particular rules had been almost entirely her idea. She  _wanted_  to show deference. She wanted to show obedience when Sir gave her an order. Dammit, why had she screwed up so badly?

“We’ll let the Time Turner ones slide as that was a little outside the norm, but what did the rules state would happen if you repeatedly broke them like that, Mine?” he asked, his tone hardening and the most confusing mixture of thrilled excitement and an icy finger of fear lanced through her at the implied threat in his words.

“‘Repeated violations of these rules will result in punishment of the sub at the Dom’s discretion, to ensure she learns to properly follow instructions’,” she practically whispered and he nodded, staring intently at her for several long breaths before he let out a frustrated sigh. 

“I’ll be honest with you, Mine,” he told her. “I don’t really want to punish you. I wanted you to experience the positives that we know can be had before either of us had to deal with the negatives.”

She said nothing and simply waited as she attempted to sift through a tangled mess of contradictory emotions. She was nervous, of course, apprehensive over the idea of being punished for her lapses. She was also shocked to discover that it wasn’t the idea of receiving a punishment that worried her but the fact of not knowing what that punishment would be. She felt ashamed for her mistakes and was determined to correct them, even if that meant being punished.

Beneath all of that was the low level arousal she felt whenever he got like this. Stern, forceful, demanding. She was quickly coming to love what this side of him did to her, and knowing just how difficult it was for him had her so grateful to have him in her life. 

“I think this is partly my fault,” he muttered, drawing her focus back to him and away from her mental meanderings. “We’re trying to do something… something very complicated without any real direction or instruction. We set rules with no time to learn the mindset that appears to be so important in this kind of thing. When I started this earlier, I surprised you with it and you didn’t have time to get into the right mindset.

“I’m also supposed to be training you, and I haven’t been doing that. Not properly. One of the things I should have been doing consistently, is making sure to note, so you’re aware, each time you do something wrong.” Standing, he moved over to her and knelt so he was on her level, looking into her eyes. “What it is I do or say isn’t important, apparently. The important part is that you know, explicitly, what it means, and also that I do the same thing each time so that there’s no confusion.”

“I understand, Sir,” she murmured.

“So, there will be no punishments for today’s mistakes, though there will be some new rules. The first of those, is this.” Reaching out, he tucked a lock of her hair gently behind her left ear. “When we’re like this, in here, or in sessions, if I tuck your hair behind your ear like this it means you’ve done something wrong and that I am disappointed in you. Do you understand?”

For a moment, Hermione was confused by a sensation of… disappointment, when Harry said she would not be punished. Did she actually want to be punished? What did that mean? What did it say about her? Then she heard the words ‘disappointed in you’ and she could have sworn someone had just punched her in the stomach, though she showed no outward reaction.

“Mine,” he said forcefully after several seconds of silence passed by them. “I need you to tell me that you understand. There can't be any confusion or misunderstanding here.”

“I understand, Sir,” she managed in a trembling whisper and his hand moved to cup her chin, lifting her head from where she’d lowered her eyes until their gazes met again. 

“Good girl.”

 _What the hell is wrong with me?_  She wondered when those two words lifted her from the deep despondency she’d just been wallowing in up to something bordering on euphoria. Hermione had always been an emotional person. She felt strongly and deeply even though she tried to view the world logically. Ever since starting this dynamic with Harry, however, he seemed to be able to send her emotions into overdrive, sending her flying or falling with a few simple words or gesture and she couldn’t wrap her head around it.

She loved it, honestly. But she couldn’t begin to understand it. 

When he let go of her chin she suddenly realized that she was grinning broadly at him and worked to bring herself back to a more neutral expression, at the least, as he went back to his chair and sat again.

“So, rules,” he said and she nodded, putting as much of her focus as she was capable of on him and what he intended to say to her.

“First is to address the issue that caused the problems before, that being you not being in the proper mindset to respond appropriately to my orders. The position you're in, I've decided to call 'The Student'. For the immediate future, every session we decide to have, you will come here first and you will wait for me right where you are in that very position. That’s why I taught it to you. The intent is that while you’re waiting it will help you get into the proper mindset. Like a student, ready to receive instruction.

"I know it can’t be comfortable to hold for long so we’ll be working on it. You’ll be practicing staying in that pose for longer periods of time. I might also add other positions in the future, but we’ll deal with those when and if they come up.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Very well thought out, she reasoned and wondered slightly at the fact that Harry really had been paying very close attention to the books. Taking what he found and applying it in the real world like this showed the effort he was putting in. She resolved to practice the pose on her own whenever she could.

“I only have one other thing, but it would involve changing something… more significant about this arrangement.”

Hermione arched a curious brow when he didn’t continue, instead staring down at his hands with his brow furrowed. Normally she was able to read him better than anyone, but she couldn’t tell if he was simply thinking or he was frustrated or upset, and that bothered her slightly. She’d always prided herself on being able to read Harry Potter. Of course, this version of him was new, and different, she decided. It might take her some time to learn the little nuances that gave him away.

“You were very insistent on keeping this separate from the rest of our lives. From our relationship outside of this. This rule I want to put in would go against that, so I’m just going to lay it out and we can discuss it.”

 _That_  had her frowning. She wasn’t sure if she liked the sound of that and like so many things she’d experienced that day, she wasn’t entirely certain why. For a moment she thought it was because he wanted to change something integral, she felt, to the dynamic. Then she had a stray thought that belied that possibility.  _Why would he want to discuss it? He is the Dom, he should just tell me how things are going to change._

“I don’t like what this year is doing to you, Mine. I’ve already told you that. The last few days you were getting more and more like you were before the holidays. That’s why I planned this session tonight, to get you to rest and to relax some. The issue with Ron was just extra. 

“The rule that I want to add is that you will not let yourself get so distressed any more. If you feel you need a distraction, come to me and tell me and we’ll arrange some time for you. I don’t care if it’s every other day, if you need it you come to me. If I have to spring another session on you like I did tonight, that  _will_  result in punishment.”

She considered that very carefully. In a way, he was right. A rule like that, a standing one that was affected by something outside their sessions would violate the letter of the rule about keeping it separate from the rest of their lives. But did it necessarily violate the spirit of the rule? She felt that it might not, considering the stress she was putting herself under was a large part of what pushed her into approaching Harry with the entire idea. It was all connected. 

Then the fact that he expressly stated she would be punished for violating that rule told her just how serious he was considering his reluctance to enforce any punishments. Honestly, they hadn’t been at this long. Two conversations and one actual session was not enough time for them to really settle into their roles. Who knew? Maybe in a few weeks Harry would be comfortable with punishing her. Right now, however, he was not, and the fact that he was even willing to consider it on this issue spoke volumes.

“I think I have to agree, Sir,” she finally said and he jerked slightly in his seat, staring at her in surprise for a moment before he was able to collect himself.

“I’m surprised you didn’t argue against it,” he admitted.

“You’re not wrong. I know I can be… stubborn. I know I push myself too hard. So you’re right that I probably wouldn’t approach you for help until after I was already a mess. Part of the point here was to help with the stress I’m under. It’s not helping if I’m being stubborn, so…” She paused and took a deep breath. “I agree. That is a rule we should have in place. For my own protection, if nothing else.”

He opened his mouth, then suddenly cut off when his watch started beeping. He frowned, looking down at the object in annoyance before he sighed and pressed a button on the side, silencing the alarm.

“Our eight hours are up,” he said by way of explanation. “It’s twenty minutes to ten so we need to be out of here in the next five minutes.” He stood and walked over to her, holding out one hand to help her up. “Come on, Hermione. Session’s over, time to get back.”

She took his hand, quickly getting to her feet and after shaking out a bit of numbness in her legs they gathered their bags and robes and headed out beneath Harry’s cloak after she’d unsealed the door.

Hermione was thinking hard as they walked, trusting in Harry to make sure she didn’t stumble or walk into anything and by the time they reached the corridor leading to the Tower she knew what she wanted to say.

“Harry?” she whispered.

“Hmmm?” he hummed quietly, his attention on their surroundings.

“I wanted to thank you.”

He looked over to her at that, a curious look on his face.

“For what?”

“It’s pretty clear that you’re still not entirely comfortable with all of this, Harry,” she pointed out. “I hope… well I hope you really want to do this, and aren’t just doing it for my sake. Like I said, it doesn’t really work that way. But even if you do want this as much as I do, I can tell it’s still not easy for you. I really appreciate how hard you’re working at this, doing this for me. So thank you, very much.”

She leaned up, pressing a kiss to his cheek and smiled shyly at him.

“It isn’t easy,” he admitted. “And… well I can’t say I don’t enjoy it. I mean… well you saw that I was enjoying it after I had you change your clothes,” he pointed out, a rueful grin on his lips and she blushed hotly again at the memory. “I just… I’m still trying to adjust my view of things, I guess. It… it feels wrong somehow to treat you like that, at times. Other times it’s a phenomenal feeling and I’m a little torn, I guess, over just how much I like it at times.”

The portrait leading into the Tower came into sight and they watched as Fred and George entered the Common Room. Less than a minute later their younger selves came out and Harry threw his cloak over the two of them as the older them stepped to the side against the wall in order to avoid accidentally colliding with their invisible selves from eight hours ago.

 _Damn, time travel is really a headache,_  Hermione mused, a small grin turning her lips. They gave it a couple of extra minutes before Harry pulled the cloak off of them and put it away, approaching the Portrait to give the password.

“Didn’t you two  _just_  walk out?” Twin one asked when the two of them walked arm-in-arm into the Common Room.

They exchanged a look before Harry grinned mischievously at her and turned back to the twins.

Harry stopped and clasped one hand on a twin's shoulder and leaned in close to him to whisper, "Mischief Managed."

Hermione burst into a fit of giggles as they walked past the twins, leaving them both looking confused and she gave them a little wave over her shoulder as she went to sit beside the fire and relax with her amazing boyfriend.


	7. Desperate and Reluctant

Two Little Words

by,

Rtnwriter

 

Sunday morning, Hermione woke bright and early, still enveloped by the good mood Harry had given her that, when he’d relieved her of her worries and concerns by ordering her to take a nap, had carried her through Friday as if wrapped in the warm cotton blanket of his love and care. She had been in such a pleasant mood all through Friday and Saturday that even Ron couldn’t bring her down with his sniping and bad attitude; and several people, student and professor alike, commented on her seemingly inexhaustible cheer. Her only response was that she’d gotten a very good night’s rest, and just felt wonderful because of it.

Every time she’d said that within Harry’s hearing range, the boy had worn a bit of a smug smirk that had her confused as to whether she wanted to hit him or kiss him. Perhaps both?

Her pleasant mood aside, Friday had progressed amazingly well, and while Harry was at Quidditch practice, putting the Firebolt through its paces for the game on Saturday, Hermione had managed to finish off all of her classwork for the week. With that all done, she’d pulled out parchment, ink, and quill, and set about a task she’d been terribly remiss in completing.

Writing a letter home to her parents.

The problem had then become what to tell them? She knew her mother would be cautiously thrilled to learn that she and Harry were dating. Her father would be a different story, but she hoped he wouldn’t take the news too hard. She was absolutely not going to tell her mother any of what they were doing beyond admitting to a few kisses and the increased time that they spent cuddling together on the sofa by the fire. 

The problem that then presented itself as she was writing was two-fold. First, she remembered the promise she’d made to her mother before returning to school: Be careful. Well  _that_  they were certainly doing. Harry hadn’t initiated anything particularly sexual beyond the day he named her ‘Mine,’ even if he  _had_  given her one of the best orgasms of her short life. Plus, she was on the potion so there was little risk of her getting pregnant.

The second part of her promise was what was causing her trouble. Her promise to write to her mother if she needed to talk, or just for advice. She’d indicated that she wouldn’t be excited if Hermione wanted advice regarding sex, but that she was willing to discuss it. Had she honestly meant that though? Or was that just one of those things parents say where they secretly hope the topic never comes up, despite offering to help?

No. This was her mother. She knew her well enough to know that Helen Granger did not say things that she didn’t mean. If she said she wanted Hermione to write to her if she needed advice then she meant it, and no matter how uncomfortable the topic might make her she would do her best to help. 

After considering her options for several minutes she finished her letter home, telling her parents all about her classes and mentioning her new relationship with Harry, how happy she was that the two of them had managed to get past their fears and actually start a relationship at all. She ended the letter with a request to invite Harry to stay with them during at least some part of the summer holidays and mentally crossed her fingers, hoping they would say yes. Her mother would probably be all for it, simply for the chance to get to know Harry, while her dad would probably attempt to say no, just to keep his little girl away from a boy. Of course, Hermione had every faith that her mum would be able to convince him to let Harry visit. 

With that letter completed, she set about writing a second letter, one for her mother’s eyes only, and carefully penned her questions. Harry had declared her beautiful on several occasions now, but he didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry to do much personally with or to her. She realized that she'd appreciated that when he ordered her to take a nap Thursday night, but by Friday evening she was more than a little frustrated with how slow the boy was going with their relationship.

She wanted to do something for him, something to show her appreciation and to  declare, in no uncertain terms, that she was  _more_  than ready for their relationship to progress further than they had so far. Of course, she wasn’t entirely sure exactly how to go about that, and asking her mother’s advice will require quite a bit of hedging around topics; not to mention expressly omitting other things. There was no way she could tell her mother that she trusted Harry to not just be using her, because she honestly trusted him  _to_  use her; she wanted him to. That would certainly not go over well, but she made sure to stress how happy he made her and how much she trusted him, especially how much he’d  _proven_  he could be trusted over the last couple of years. 

In the end, she even revealed that she’d heard him talking to her when she’d been hospitalized the last year. She didn’t go into any details of course, that would be betraying Harry’s trust, but she said enough to indicate that she knew him very well and that he would never intentionally hurt her, or take advantage of her. With any luck at all, that would be enough to allay any concerns her mother might have beyond the usual worries of her daughter being sexually active at fourteen. That one concern was certainly going to be enough of a hurdle for her mother to get over without adding anything else to it. 

When the ink on her letters had finally dried, she’d rolled them up, sealed them, and headed off for the owlery to send them home. Harry had told her in the past that she was welcome to ask Hedwig to carry any post she needed, as he didn’t write to anyone often enough and his gorgeous familiar would be happy for the excuse to actually do some work. When she’d arrived she’d looked for the bright white plumage of her boyfriends familiar and gently called the beautiful owl down. A brief, if somewhat one-sided, conversation had ensued and within minutes Hedwig was winging her way south through the chilly evening air, the two scrolls tied securely to her legs. 

Saturday had been laid back and easy with nothing to do and nowhere to be until the Quidditch match against Ravenclaw that afternoon. Malfoy managed to get himself, Crabbe, and Goyle detention for attempting to sabotage Harry during the game by dressing up as Dementors; the fact that Harry had finally produced his patronus during the match was just icing on the cake in her opinion. Of course, the other students in Gryffindor couldn’t have cared less about  _her_  Harry performing such a difficult piece of magic; he’d caught the snitch and no one else could be bothered by anything other than that one salient fact. 

She honestly couldn’t begrudge them their excitement. Just because she didn’t care for the sport, or understand why people were so obsessed with it, didn’t mean she couldn’t see how much it meant to them. So as much as she might have wanted to get Harry somewhere alone to offer a private congratulations, she’d bit her tongue and been patient since much of his attention had been taken up by their house mates congratulating him and espousing their praise over the brilliant broom he’d acquired. 

Luckily, only a few knew of the small bit of chaos that had surrounded that broom. She knew that even being Harry’s girlfriend would not have saved her from more than a few scathing comments from the rest of the house otherwise. 

So with Sunday upon her, Hermione climbed quickly out of bed, showering and dressing without lingering, in order for her to get downstairs as quickly as she could. She’d noticed since they’d started dating that Harry seemed to be getting up much earlier in the mornings as she’d often come across him sitting at one of the tables in the Common Room studying class notes or reading through the Ancient Runes textbooks. With any luck at all, she could hopefully catch him alone and give him that congratulations that had been denied her during the party last night. 

By the time she got downstairs though, there were a lot more people up and moving about than she’d ever encountered at seven o’clock on a Sunday morning. Slightly perplexed she scanned the room, looking for the distinctive mop of black hair that was such a defining feature. She’d easily spotted Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan talking with Neville and Ron near the portrait hole, but there was no sign of Harry.

Another look around showed that all of the students present weren’t acting in the usual weekend manner, as in playing games, talking, or laughing over one thing or another. No, they all appeared to be clumping in small groups, talking in hushed tones, while some, like Lavender and Parvati, scurried from group to group where they would exchange a few words before moving on. 

 _What in Godric’s name is going on here?_  she thought as she came down the last few steps into the Common Room proper and cast her gaze around one last time. Spying the two redheads she wanted to speak to she squared her shoulders and marched her way up to them.

“Fred, George,” she called interrupting their discussion with the three chasers from the Gryffindor team. “Do you have any idea where Harry is? And just what is going on? Why are so many people awake this early?”

“You haven’t heard?” Twin one asked, turning to her in surprise.

“Half the tower was woken up-”

“-last night when it happened.”

“McGonagall has been-”

“-trying to get people to go-”

“-back to sleep since.”

“Enough with the twin pong and just tell me what’s going on?” she demanded, a sense of apprehension growing in her chest. Something had happened and Harry was missing. That usually meant she’d be visiting him in the Hospital Wing.

“Cut it out you two,” Angelina said, slapping one of the twins across the back of his head while Alicia smacked the other one. “Hermione, it sounds like Black broke into the tower last night,” she explained in a gentle tone of voice. “From what we’ve been able to figure out, Harry was down here when he came in and fought or scared him off. We haven’t really been able to figure out exactly what happened.”

An icy sliver of fear drove its way into her chest as her entire body tensed up at that news.

“Is Harry…”

“He’s fine, as far as we know,” Alicia said from where she was leaning against one of the twins. “McGonagall took him to see the Headmaster and he’s been gone since, but I don’t think he was hurt. I’m surprised you weren’t woken up, it wasn’t exactly quiet around here.”

At that Hermione had to fight back a blush. Her dreams lately had been getting more and more explicit and she’d been worried that she might say something in her sleep so she’d taken to placing silencing charms around her bed each night. It looked like it was time to research one-way silencing spells or something else so that she wouldn’t be caught unawares again. 

“I’ve got to go see him,” she muttered, frowning worriedly. “Do you think he’s at the Hospital Wing?”

The five of them shrugged.

“No idea. They might have made him go, just in case, but he really didn’t seem like he was hurt when I saw him,” Katie said.

“How did Black even get into the tower?”

Both of the twins winced at that one.

“Looks like he’d found a piece of parchment where someone had written down all of this week’s passwords. Neville owned up to having done that and then lost it. With Cadogan making up such ridiculous passwords and changing them so often, Neville wrote them down so he wouldn’t be locked out of the Tower. Cadogan told the Headmaster that Black had all the passwords written down so he just let the maniac into the tower. He’s going to be removed and the Fat Lady should be back by the end of the day.”

Thanking them profusely for the information, Hermione hurried back up to the dorms and grabbed her class robes, throwing them on over her blouse and skirt before then rushing back out and down the stairs. She didn’t even give the portrait time to swing open on its own as she pushed her way through, ignoring the startled exclamation from behind her. Her flight through the castle seemed to pass in a blink as her mind whirled through all the possible things that could have happened to Harry. 

 _Dammit, why is it always Harry?_  she thought while she ran. More than once she plunged right through one of the castle’s many ghosts, in far too much of a hurry to even attempt to dodge around them. Portraits shouted behind her for running, but she ignored them with the same single-minded focus that she’d ignored the icy feeling of passing through a ghost.

When the doors leading into the Hospital Wing finally loomed ahead of her she didn’t even slow down, slamming into them with her full weight behind the impact, sending them bursting open as she skidded into the room beyond.

“... telling you that I’m fine. Can I please go?” Harry was saying as she burst into the Wing. 

When the doors banged against the walls on either side of the entryway, both Madam Pomfrey and Harry jumped and turned toward her as she skidded to a stop, panting harshly from her mad dash through the halls. 

“Miss Granger! I will not have students bursting into my Hospital Wing like that,” Madam Pomfrey admonished her, but Hermione barely noticed as she hurried over to the bed where Harry was sitting up against a pillow, an annoyed expression on his face.

“Are you alright?” she asked him breathlessly, wanting desperately to throw herself into his arms, yet unsure if she’d hurt him in the process.

“I’m fine, Hermione,” he assured her before shooting another irritated glance in the Mediwitch’s direction. “I wasn’t hurt at all, but they’ve had me in here all night and Madam Pomfrey refuses to let me leave.”

“Mister Potter, there are any number of spells Black could have cast that could have serious detrimental effects-”

“Madam Pomfrey, he didn’t have a wand,” Harry interrupted her. “I told you, he had a huge knife but he didn’t get near me and he didn’t cast any spells at all.”

“Be that as it may you are still not leaving this Wing until I say you can.”

Exasperated, Harry threw his arms up into the air, leaning back again against the pillow behind him.

“So, you’re not hurt?” Hermione asked as she started to get her breath back and her pulse began to slow.

“No, Hermione. I’m perfectly fine. I didn’t get hurt at all.”

With that said she stopped restraining herself and suddenly lunged forward, practically flying into his arms. Before she completely realized what she was doing, relieved tears were streaming down her cheeks and her lips had found his, almost desperately kissing him. The sound of a throat being cleared behind her finally managed to cut through her hazy mind and her brain finally caught up with her body.

She let out a mortified squeak and moved to jerk away from him but he held her tightly enough that all she was able to do was break their kiss.

“I’m fine,” he whispered, his eyes staring searchingly into hers.

“You’re the reigning champion of ‘fine’,” she reminded him. “So, are you actually ‘fine’, or are you F.I.N.E?” she asked and he snorted out a laugh.

“I really am just fine, Hermione. Not a scratch on me.”

“Miss Granger, if you could please get off of my patient I could finish my diagnostic spells and we could all be about our day,” Madam Pomfrey said and Hermione scrambled out of Harry’s arms and away from the bed. She used the excuse of needing to wipe away the tears that still stained her face in order to avoid looking at the Mediwitch while she worked. The amusement in the woman’s voice had been more than enough for her, she didn’t need to see it in her expression as well. 

“I’m still not sure I should let you leave, Mister Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said a few moments later after she’d finished her spells and Hermione had finished collecting herself. “Black is exceedingly dangerous and you-”

“Madam Pomfrey,” Harry interrupted the woman again and Hermione actually started in surprise as his posture shifted and his voice took on a very familiar tone. He was leveling a steady, unflinching stare at the woman, his green eyes like cold emerald chips in his face. “I wasn’t hurt at all. I’ve already told you that he didn’t actually touch me. He didn’t come near me. There is nothing wrong with me. You can’t keep me here for no reason. So I’ll be leaving. I have more important things to do than spend them sitting around here for absolutely no reason. If anyone needs to speak to me I will likely be in either the Gryffindor Common Room or the Library, but I won’t be staying here a minute longer.”

With that said he threw back the thin blanket that was draped over his legs and turned in the bed, throwing his legs over the side so that his feet could find the floor.

“Mister Potter!” Madam Pomfrey protested. “I haven’t released you, yet.”

“You don’t have any reason to keep me here,” he reminded her again as he slipped his feet into his battered trainers and reached for his robes to throw on over his jeans and t-shirt.

“If you don’t get back in that bed this instant I’ll have to stun you, Mister Potter,” she threatened and he turned, his expression now angry. 

“Do that, Madam Pomfrey, and I’ll be contacting the DMLE and the School Board of Governors to question why a member of the staff would attack a student. Not that it would be the first time that’s happened around here, so maybe that’s just expected at Hogwarts?”

Madam Pomfrey could only sputter for a few moments while Harry grabbed his wand, tucked it into his robes and then reached out for Hermione’s hand. Without thinking, she responded to the action, slipping her hand into his and he wordlessly led her from the Hospital Wing, leaving a dumbfounded Mediwitch behind.

“That probably wasn’t my smartest move ever,” Harry mused a few minutes later as they were making their way slowly toward Gryffindor Tower. They were moving slowly because Hermione had wrapped both her arms around his and was leaning her head against his shoulder, reassuring herself through that simple contact that he really was fine.

“What’s that?” she asked softly, looking up at his profile from her spot on his shoulder.

“Upsetting Madam Pomfrey. I mean… we know my luck. Even odds I’ll end up in there again for some injury and now she’ll be nursing a grudge.” He paused looking thoughtfully up at the ceiling for a moment before he shrugged his free shoulder. “No pun intended.”

“I’ll let it slide...  _this_  time,” she giggled, “but only if you tell me what happened last night. All I got was that Black showed up somehow?”

“Yeah um…. let’s get back to the Tower, Ron should hear this too, I think.”

She pulled slightly away from Harry so they could walk a little faster though she refused to let go of his hand and another thought occurred to her that she decided to get out of the way before they had company.

“Why did you do that?” she asked. “With Madam Pomfrey, I mean. You… well you kind of got like you do with me when….” She trailed off, blushing furiously.

“You said it yourself, Hermione. I don’t have a lot of control in my life. I was just so tired of her not letting me leave when there was nothing wrong that I decided I just wasn’t going to put up with it anymore. I spent half the night angry about the whole thing and I’d decided I was going to do something soon; just about when you showed up actually. It just seemed like the right time to assert myself a little.”

She favored him with another one of the beaming smiles that had become more and more commonplace since the start of their relationship, then leaned over to kiss his cheek, thrilled with him for taking some action for himself. That had been precisely what she’d hoped would happen when she’d considered what learning some control and a bit more confidence in himself might be able to achieve. Well… she hadn’t actually expected him to use that new confidence and assurance against their School Nurse, but him asserting himself and learning not to simply take things lying down was exactly in line with her thinking. 

By the time they reached the portrait, Hermione was beginning to feel a bit less as if she were lost at sea, as she had when she made her worried dash across the castle to find him in the Hospital Wing. With a calmer mind, her intellect began to assert itself once again and she pulled him to a stop before they could actually enter the Tower, her brow furrowed in thought.

“Hermione?” he asked curiously. 

“If you go in there, you’re going to get mobbed by people wanting to ask about what happened,” she pointed out and he grimaced in response, his face twisting with distaste as he realized that she was right. “What if I go in and tell Ron you need him out here?”

“Think that’ll work? He’s still being a berk to you about Scabbers.”

She shrugged. “Only one way to find out,” she said, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek before she reluctantly let go of his hand and went to track down Ron Weasley.

Locating Ron wasn’t difficult at all, his bright red hair standing out like a beacon to show where he was sitting near the fire, still in the company of the other boys from Harry’s dorm. Neville was the first to notice her approaching as she dodged questions from other students on her way across the crowded room, and he nudged Ron with his elbow, directing the redhead’s attention to her.

“What’d  _you_  want?” Ron snapped as she came to a stop near his chair. “No more pets around here for you to sic that beast of yours on.”

“Ronald, we don’t  _know_  that-” She cut herself off and took a deep breath. “I’m not here to argue with you about your rat, Ron,” she said. “Harry wanted to talk to you since you have been friends since first year. If you’d rather throw that away and just sit here being a prat instead, well, that’s fine then. I’ll let him know you’re not interested.”

With her piece said, she spun on her heel and marched her way back toward the exit. Behind her, she heard Ron mutter something and then the sound of his footsteps following her out of the Tower.

 

##### 

 

When the portrait closed behind his girlfriend, he shoved his hands in his pockets and settled in to wait. There was no way to really tell just how long it would take for Hermione to deal with Ron, or even if she would be successful in getting him out of the Tower. 

While he waited he realized that he had more information to impart than just what had happened last night. Information that he’d forgotten to share with either of his closest friends. In his defense, several unexpected things had taken place in rather quick succession, so he had an excuse for forgetting to bring it up. Hermione, he felt, would be disappointed in him, before most likely moving onto being very worried for him. Ron… well Ron would likely be surprised and then dismiss most of it as unimportant.

The portrait suddenly swung open and Hermione came out, an angry frown on her face. When he gave her a concerned look she only shook her head. With narrowed eyes, he opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong when the portrait suddenly swung open again and Ron came clambering out, his ears a tell-tale red and a similar angry scowl plastered on his face. 

Holding back a frustrated sigh, he simply held his hand out to his girlfriend and then led the two of them to the classroom where Hermione had spent some time ranting about Ron last Thursday evening. Once inside he directed them both to a pair of the student desks before taking up his, now customary, position leaning against the Professor’s desk, his arms crossed over his chest.

“What’s going on, Mate?” Ron asked after several minutes had passed in silence. 

Startled out of his thoughts, he glanced up at his friend for a moment before his eyes darted toward Hermione. She was watching him with a worried expression on her face, her teeth worrying at her lower lip and her hands clenched on the desk in front of her. 

“I figured the two of you deserved to hear about what happened last night more than anyone, but I realized that I forgot to tell you something else that happened a few weeks ago,” he admitted.

“On Christmas Eve, I snuck down to the village under my dad’s cloak. I  _know_  it wasn’t a smart idea and I shouldn’t have done it,” he said, raising a hand to cut off Hermione before she could speak.

In response, her mouth snapped shut and she let out an annoyed ‘hmph,’ before leaning back in her seat with her own arms crossed over her breasts.

“It’s bloody brilliant is what it was,” Ron blurted out, ignoring a sharp rebuke from Hermione over his language. “But how come you didn’t ask me to come with you?”

“We’d both have had to spend the whole time under the cloak, Ron,” Harry pointed out. “Sorry, but we’re just not  _that_  friendly, Mate.”

“How is this related to last night?” Hermione asked over Ron’s embarrassed spluttering, a small grin playing around her lips. 

“I went into the Three Broomsticks, thinking I might be able to snag a Butterbeer. No idea how I was going to manage that and stay under the cloak, but while I was there I spotted Professors McGonagall and Flitwick as well as Hagrid and Minister Fudge sitting at one of the tables. The door was closed so I couldn’t leave. I ended up standing in there for a little while with nothing else to do but listen to their conversation.”

There he stopped and tried to consider how best to impart the information he’d come across before deciding that just laying it out was the best way; No hedging around the topic needed.

“First. When we went into hiding, my parents used a spell called the Fidelius, I think that’s what it was called. Anyway, from what I heard it does, it takes a location and makes it secret, hiding that secret within a person, so only that person can tell someone else where the place is; Otherwise, it’s impossible to find.”

Ron blinked a few times, looking a little confused while Hermione was leaning forward, her attention eagerly focused on every word Harry was saying. 

“Apparently, Black and my dad were best friends all through school. The Professors and Madam Rosmerta kept talking about how the two of them always seemed like brothers; Best friends and troublemakers. Black was my dad’s Best Man when he and my mum got married, and they even made him my godfather. It looks like they also made him their Secret Keeper.”

Hermione’s face showed understanding first, though for once Ron wasn’t far behind as his face paled, causing all of his freckles to stand out rather sharply.

“So… so Black…”

“Black betrayed us to Voldemort,” Harry muttered, ignoring the way they both shuddered. “He was their best friend. He is my godfather. Yet he still betrayed them. He delivered the secret to his  _Master_ , and led the bastard right to us. Hagrid said that when he was taking me out of the house that night, Black showed up, looking to take me away with him. They argued for a bit but eventually Black gave Hagrid his motorcycle and left. Few days later he was cornered on a street by another friend of theirs, Peter Pettigrew, and Black blew him and half the street up, killing Pettigrew and a dozen muggles all with one spell.”

“He sounds like he’s incredibly powerful... and dangerous,” Hermione said in a small, scared voice, and he couldn’t help but nod along.

“It sounds like it but… I don’t know, something about last night just isn’t fitting.”

“H-how do you mean, Mate?”

He sighed and started pacing, his arms still crossed, head down and his brow furrowed in thought. 

“I was sitting in the Common Room last night,” he said absently, not entirely paying attention to the words leaving his mouth. “I couldn’t sleep so I was trying to get some extra work done by studying up on Ancient Runes, then the portrait opened and he just walked right in, bold as brass. He didn’t see me at first. I was sitting over by the fire and he was just heading straight for the stairs to the boy’s dorms.”

He paused, his frown deepening for a moment. 

“He was… muttering to himself, but it was so quiet I could still hear him pretty clearly. Something like, ‘I won’t let you hurt him, Peter.’ Black just kept repeating that, over and over. Eventually I stood up and shouted at him. He spun around to face me and I tried to stun or disarm him, but he managed to dodge everything I threw at him. The whole time he had this… shocked look on his face. It was like… like he wasn’t sure what he was seeing and when I stopped firing spells at him, he stopped, and just stared at me.”

He fell silent again, remembering the encounter in its fullest. Every detail that he could recall was etched in his mind’s eye. Eventually he shook himself and turned back toward Ron and Hermione. 

“Anyway, he called me James at first before he sort of shook himself, like he was in a daze or something, and then he called me by my name. Said he was sorry, that it was all his fault and he shouldn’t have…”

“Shouldn’t have… what?” Hermione asked when Harry trailed off.

He shrugged his shoulders, letting out a long sigh and leaning back against the desk again. “That’s the thing, he didn’t finish that. Just stopped there. He started insisting he didn’t want to hurt anyone but he had to get up to the third year dorm. He had to get the rat. Over and over. ‘Get the rat. Get the rat. Get the rat, Harry. He’ll hurt you. Can’t let him hurt you. Not like he hurt James and Lily.’

“Honestly, I didn’t know what to think anymore. I thought I hated him. I thought… I thought I wanted to see him die, especially after what I heard on Christmas Eve. I mean… it’s no wonder Malfoy was talking about wanting revenge if it’d been him. He knew what Black had done. But… seeing him in the Common Room…. He really didn’t look threatening. Not to me at least. I don’t think he wanted to hurt me at all. He had this huge knife in one hand and the whole time I was attacking him he didn’t once even try to come at me. He kept his distance, and when I stopped, he still kept back.”

“Well the bloke’s mad, ain’t he?” Ron suddenly cut in. “Dad always said the Dementors’ll drive anyone mad eventually. He’s been in Azkaban for… what, over twelve years?”

“Except he’s  _not_  mad,” Harry disagreed. “When Madam Rosmerta asked Fudge the same thing, he replied that when he saw Black in Azkaban before his break out he was perfectly lucid. Even asked if he could have his copy of the Daily Prophet, calm as you please. Said he missed doing the puzzle. Someone who’s mad doesn’t act like that.”

Silence fell over them for several long minutes before Hermione sat forward in her seat, drawing the boys’ attention to her. “What do you think it all means, Harry?” she asked.

He sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know. But it brings up a few questions I’d kind of like answers to. I mean… what really happened that night? A lot of people seem to think they know, but I was apparently the only survivor, and I certainly haven’t talked to anyone about it, even if I knew myself. Right now, I think Black is the only one that might be able to give me any answers, but…” he shrugged, “I really don’t know what to do about the whole thing.”

“So what else happened?” Ron asked. “You didn’t finish with last night.”

He blinked in surprise, his attention swinging toward the other boy for a moment. “Oh... well... after that we heard people moving around upstairs. Black started running for the portrait and it opened just in time for him to shove Professor McGonagall out of the way as he went tearing off out into the hall. No idea what happened to him after that. Before I knew it Professor McGonagall was dragging me off to see the Headmaster, and then they made me spend the night in the Hospital Wing even though Black never came within ten feet of me the whole time.”

They considered that for a few moments but when no new thoughts presented themselves, Hermione spoke up again. “Harry, why didn’t you tell us about what you heard on Christmas Eve before now?” she asked cautiously.

He shrugged again. “Well, the next day we had the whole Firebolt fiasco,” he said absently, noting that a flash of something flickered across Hermione’s face for a moment, but it came and went so fast that he couldn’t really identify it. “After that, things were kind of strained, and then I just forgot about it until I saw him last night and realized I hadn’t told you two yet.”

Hermione looked like she was thinking hard, something he’d come to recognize fairly well. Her brow was furrowed again, her bottom lip caught in her teeth and her eyes were focused on a point some distance in front of her but she wasn’t really seeing much. “What rat was he was talking about? The only rat around is Scabbers and-”

“Oh no... don’t use Black’s comments to try to play down your beast’s actions, Hermione,” Ron burst out. 

Hermione blinked and jerked back in her seat, her eyes turning to the redhead beside her as a confused look spread across her face. “What? I'm not projecting Black's... just stop Ron! We need to think this through.”

He closed his eyes, debating with himself if there was anything he could do to stop the impending argument, when Ron blew up and started tearing into Hermione. Personally he was grateful to hear the frustration in her voice, it showed the obvious attempt that she was making to remain civil with Ron, and he really did appreciate that.

“All right guys, cut it out,” he called, but the two of them continued sniping at each other. He could see that Hermione was rapidly losing her cool.

“Guys, that’s enough!” he tried, a bit louder but with no better results. 

“ENOUGH!” he finally roared, the blast of sound getting both of them to give him their attention. “God damn it! I have had it up to  _here_  with the both of you!” he snapped, holding his hand a good foot above his head. “Ron, you can’t just blame Crookshanks for Scabbers. You don’t know for certain what happened. Yes, it admittedly seems likely, but that is  _not_  proof! Dammit!”

“And you,” he added, rounding on Hermione. “How often have you told me to just ignore Malfoy, or Snape, when they start making digs at me, or my friends, or my parents? Take your own advice and realize that he’s not going to just suddenly GROW UP! You’re letting him get to you when you could just as easily ignore him.”

When he stopped, he was panting harshly, his face flushed and his eyes flashing dangerously; both Ron and Hermione looked like a pair of scolded children, though Ron’s ears were still very red.

“Ron,” he said after a moment to calm himself slightly, “I get that you’re upset, but if you can’t find a better way to express that than by snapping, and starting arguments, then I’m not certain you should hang around us anymore; Not until you can understand that you don’t treat your friends that way. I’ve let a lot of crap slide with you that maybe I should have spoken up about sooner, but I’m done doing that. Even if Hermione and I weren’t together, I still wouldn’t be okay with you treating her like this. She’s supposed to be your friend, Ron, start acting like like you consider her to be one.”

Ron said nothing for several moments, then he rose from his seat and walked out of the room without another word. He didn’t think the redhead looked particularly angry anymore, but he wasn’t exactly certain just what other boy was feeling, so he didn’t know if this was a good thing... or possibly the end of the first friendship he’d ever had with someone his own age.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Hermione spoke up in a small voice a few minutes after Ron had left. “I know I shouldn’t let him get to me like that, it’s just…”

“I understand that, believe me. Malfoy and Snape, remember?” He sighed and dragged a hand across his face, pushing his glasses up and out of the way to rub tiredly at his eyes. “How’re you feeling?” he asked, after repositioning his glasses and turning his attention back to her. 

“Annoyed, frustrated, worried.” She shrugged and seemed to slump a little more in her seat. 

“Did you want to meet me in our room?” he asked softly.

She considered that for a moment, her teeth worrying at her lower lip again before she nodded.

“Yes, Sir,” she said just as softly.

His voice took on a harsher edge, and he said, “All right. Go now. I’ll be along shortly.”

Hermione nodded, already getting to her feet; he could almost see a tingle running down her spine. “Yes, Sir,” she said firmly, then hurried out the door, leaving Harry alone in the classroom.

A few minutes later he began following after her. “So,” he muttered as he walked. “What’re you going to have her do this time?”

 

##### 

 

A week from that Sunday, Hermione found herself on her bed practicing. She’d charmed the mattress so that it was firmer, nearly as hard as the floor, and she was kneeling in the pose Harry had taught her, ‘the Student’ as he’d named it. After a bit of searching in the Library, she had found some rather useful spells that she employed now so that a book floated in front of her, allowing her to read it while keeping her hands behind her back, arms crossed at the wrist at the small of her back with her wand held loosely in her right hand. 

The last week had held its share of ups and downs. Friday had been Buckbeak’s hearing in London, and Saturday she’d received word from Hagrid that they’d lost; the Hippogriff was scheduled to be executed. Her relationship with Ron had been strained, but both had been remarkably more civil toward each other, which she saw as significant improvement over most of the time they usually spent around each other. 

On Monday, after a good night’s sleep, she’d suggested Harry write to Amelia Bones, Head of the DMLE and request information on Sirius Black’s trial and the interrogation after his arrest. With any luck she would be able to provide him with copies of the trial and the interrogation, perhaps that would supply him with more information that might help with the questions they kept coming up with surrounding Black and his parents deaths.  She wouldn’t have even thought of doing that, had she not accidentally mentioned it to Susan Bones during Ancient Runes, prompting the young Hufflepuff to inform her about her aunt, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, information the library lacked.

Aside from the session the previous Sunday, there had been another on Thursday, because she’d been worrying herself sick over Buckbeak’s upcoming hearing. Friday he’d kept her occupied all day with classwork, and having her quiz him in preparation for his upcoming meeting with Professor McGonagall to see if he’d pulled his grades up enough to get into the Ancient Runes course. They’d had a third session yesterday, due to her depression after hearing how the hearing had gone. While the sessions were helping, and Harry’s idea for her to start off each session waiting for him in her pose had certainly helped get her into the right mindset, she still felt as if something were missing.

Part of the idea with this dynamic was for Harry to  _use_  her, sexually, to both their pleasure. At least, that was part of the discussion they’d held when they’d set down their rules and written out the contract they’d signed. So far though, all their sessions had her fully clothed, with the exception of the nap he’d forced her to take, and he’d made no overt sexual contact with her other than the day he’d named her ‘Mine’.

One of the sessions he’d had her write out, in graphically explicit detail, some of the fantasies she’d had of him controlling her. What he’d made her do, how it had made her feel, how many times she’d cum during it. That had been… stimulating in its own right, and very embarrassing, but not quite what she was expecting from a teen boy who knew that he basically had a willing fuck toy available to him. 

She let out an exasperated sigh and turned another page in her book, reading about punishments while her mind wandered. 

Each session she had remained clothed while he’d found creative ways to stimulate her mind and control her behavior, but he still hadn’t done anything more with her. Even when she’d worn her shortest skirt and purposely taken off her knickers during their last session while she was waiting for him to arrive in their room. She knew he’d seen her, his reaction had made that very clear, and she was positive she’d never blushed so hard in her life. Once again however, he’d done nothing about it. Why? He said he thought she was beautiful, but was he not actually attracted to her? She could admit that Daphne Greengrass and Susan Bones in her Ancient Runes class were both absolutely gorgeous, but that didn’t mean she was attracted to them.

No. She shook that thought from her head. She’d seen just how turned on he got around her, it was obvious even with the baggy jeans that he owned, so he was at least aroused when he was controlling her. That didn’t tell her why he refused to do more with her though.

She flicked her wand and the page turned again, as she drove those thoughts from her mind for now, and resolved to discuss them with Harry soon. In the meantime, she had something else she was concerned about, so she directed her focus to the book and carefully read over the information provided. By the time she’d read through it twice, she’d moved to sit up against the headboard, abandoning her pose practice in favor of comfort while she considered the forming idea in the back of her mind.

She didn’t think it was a bad idea, and if the information some of the subs had written in their letters and essays was anything to go by, it just might help her. Harry had stated that she could make requests if she felt there was something she really wanted to try or experience. In the end, it would be up to him if he took her request to heart or not, but she could still ask. She felt she had a decent argument to give for her request as well, so she just might be able to convince him. 

She spent a few minutes hesitating, waffling back and forth over whether or not she should actually go through with this; could she? Really, was it a good idea? Maybe not. Would it honestly help her? Maybe not, but then again, it really might. Letting out a frustrated sigh she got out of bed, put away the book, and headed down to the Common Room in search of her boyfriend. Maybe if she saw him, it would help her decide what she wanted to do.

Coming off the last step she quickly spotted him, sitting on the sofa near the fire, the broomstick servicing kit that she’d bought him as a birthday gift lying open on a low table in front of him while the Firebolt lay across his lap as he went over it with meticulous care.

 _That’s it,_  she thought. _I can’t keep doing this. All you can do is ask him, then do your best to convince him._

With that thought in mind she made her way over to sit beside him on the sofa, doing her best to keep the pain she felt from her face, but when he turned to smile at her, she could tell he’d noticed as his expression shifted quickly into a concerned frown.

Before he could say anything she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, lingering so she could whisper in his ear, “Can you please meet me in our room, Sir?”

When she pulled back he was eyeing her curiously, and took a few moments to study her face before he nodded his head. A quick glance to the broom and then to his watch and he looked back at her. 

“Twenty minutes,” he said. 

She nodded, her heart rate picking up its beat as she considered just what she would be asking for. Leaning in to kiss him again, she stood and casually walked out of the Tower.

As soon as she was out in the hall she started hurrying her way along, moving as fast as she could and still be considered walking, until she reached the first floor and made her way to their room. Sealing the door behind her with a twist on the locking charm keyed so that only she and Harry could removed it without some exceptional power or skill, she went about preparing the area; a new element Harry had added to her duties in their last session.

She moved several of the desks and chairs, clearing a larger space in the center of the room and set the chair from behind the Professor’s desk in place at the front of the room. Moving five feet in front of it she cast the cushioning charm at the stone floor and carefully sank down to her knees, arranging herself into her pose and settled in to wait for her Sir to arrive. 

Her stomach rolled and her heart fluttered as she waited. Merlin’s pants, what was she doing? This had to be one of the most insane things she’d ever even contemplated, and that was saying something considering some of what had passed through her mind in the last few weeks. 

Before her thoughts could spiral around anymore, she heard the seal being removed from the door and snapped more completely into her pose, her back going ramrod straight and her eyes directing themselves to the floor in front of her as she heard the door open and then swing closed again. A moment later it was sealed again and quiet footsteps moved across the room until she sensed, more than heard, Harry settling into his chair. 

“Look at me, Mine,” he said a few moments later in a steady voice and she slowly lifted her head to meet his gaze. His eyes studied hers for several long moments before he nodded to himself and leaned back in his seat. 

“All right,” he said. “Out with it. I’ve been noticing for a while these moments when you seemed like you were upset. The first time was in the Library after I told you and Ron about my plans for class. I didn’t question you on it then because I wasn’t certain if you’d appreciate it, or think I was being nosy and should butt out. I’ve asked several times since then and you’ve always brushed me off. This is the first time that you’ve brought it in here. So out with it, Mine. I’m ordering you to tell me what it is that’s bothering you.

Dammit. She’d hoped he wouldn’t have connected the two, but at the same time, that was almost exactly why she’d asked him here. She took a deep steadying breath before she spoke as clearly and calmly as she could. 

“Sir, I would like to request that you punish me for the pain I’ve caused you.”

 

##### 

 

Harry’s mouth dropped open, completely unable to hide the shock that he’d just experienced. Hermione was actually requesting punishment? Even knowing how much he still had issue with that concept?  _Wait, what pain has she caused me?_  he thought, utterly bewildered by the sudden request. 

“What?” he finally asked, expressing rather eloquently the degree to which he didn’t understand her request. “What are you talking about? What do you think you’ve done, Mine?”

She took a deep breath, the action pushing her breasts out even further, but he was far too distracted to notice. 

“I’ve been feeling… guilty,” she admitted. “The… the situation with the Firebolt. I… I can’t apologize for doing what I did. I was worried about you, Sir, and I didn’t want to see you get hurt. But going behind your back like I did. Since you explained how badly that hurt you I just… I can’t shake how bad I feel over the whole situation.”

Her voice broke several times during her brief recitation, and he could easily see just how upset the whole thing was making her, but a little voice in the back of his head simply screamed at him that this was wrong.  _This_  was not how things were supposed to work.

“I’ve been reading over the sub letters again, and many of them comment how being punished for something they did wrong helps them to let go of the guilt they feel for their mistakes. How it… absolves them of whatever they’ve done wrong. The pain helps to wash away their guilt and find some peace.”

“Pain…” he whispered, trailing off into an almost horrified silence. 

“I understand, Sir. I understand that from what we have to go on, physical punishment is recommended as a last resort I just… I feel like that’s what I need to shake this feeling.” Tears brimmed in her eyes and a few spilled over, dripping down her cheeks but she made no motion to wipe them away, holding her pose. “I want a punishment, so I can move on from this. Please, Sir.”

Harry’s mouth worked silently for several moments, his jaw moving up and down a number of times before snapping shut with an audible click, his face shifted from dumbfounded shock to something new. Something he’d never really felt directed at his Hermione before. 

Anger. 

Yes, he’d been upset over the incident with the broom. He’d been hurt. But he’d never truly been  _angry_ with her before. Slowly, he stood, fists clenched at his side until he’d reached his full height, and he glared down at her. 

“No,” he growled and she started, looking up at him in surprise.

“What? But... Sir?”

“No!” he snapped again, swiping one hand angrily through the air in front of him, as if attempting to brush aside whatever she wanted to say. “No. This… this is wrong,” he snarled. “This isn’t how things are supposed to work, Hermione.”

“You said you’d help me with what I needed,” she shot back, half rising from her knees for a moment before she sank back down, lowering her eyes to the floor again. “I need this, Sir. I need to… to let go of this guilt and this pain. I never wanted to hurt you, but I did, and I feel terrible about it.”

“I don’t care! I already forgave you for the broom, Hermione. I don’t care about that. And that was before we were even dating much less,” he gestured wildly to take in the room around them, “much less  _this_.”

“I am allowed to make requests,” she argued, her voice taking on an angry tone.

“And I reserve the right to allow them or not!” he practically roared. “Am I the Dom here or not, Hermione?”

“Of course you are-”

“Really?” He interrupted her, “Because from here it looks like  _you’re_  the one trying to control the situation and dictate how things should be. That’s not your place in here!” 

He glared at her for several long moments, a dozen different things he could say to her flitted past his mind but none made it to his lips.

“I can’t do this,” he finally said. “Not right now. I need to… I….” 

The words wouldn’t come so he finally just turned and strode for the door, removing the seal as he went. Yanking the door open, he left their room and slammed it closed again behind him. 

 

##### 

 

Some hours later, Harry found himself stalking his way around the edge of the Black Lake, furiously muttering under his breath. 

“Dammit… she knows how much I still don’t like this whole idea. And wanting to keep things separate was her idea! Why would she try and pull this kind of crap?”

Stooping down, he picked up a rock about the size of his fist and hurled it as hard as he could, completely ignoring how the projectile vanished beneath the placid surface of the water with a small splash, sending ripples stretching outward. Continuing his walk for a few more minutes, he came across a large boulder sticking up from the ground at the water’s edge and clambered up onto it, taking a seat at the top. 

With his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his shins, he stared out over the glassy surface of the lake, doing his utmost to calm himself and think.

“Okay,” he muttered. “You’re not stupid, Potter, so figure this out. What the hell is going on with her and how are you going to handle this?”

 _If_  they were still continuing with this planned dynamic after his reaction earlier… obviously something needed to be done. Either the dynamic needed to change, or they needed to establish some better rules. Was there anything else he could do? There had to be  _something_  he was missing, aside from whatever had possessed Hermione to think that her request was a good idea in any way. 

Frustrated, he reached into his robes and pulled out the first book she’d given him, ‘The Philosophy of Dominance and Submission’. Before coming out onto the grounds he’d stopped by the tower and grabbed it from his trunk, hoping to find something to help direct him on how to deal with his current situation. 

After skimming through the table of contents, nothing specific had popped out at him and he found that he just wasn’t sure how to proceed. He started flipping through the book idly, hoping that something would catch his attention. Toward the back of the book he found a couple of pieces of stationary, carefully folded in half and tucked between the pages and he gave them a confused look for a moment before pulling them out. Stretching his legs out, he set the volume on his lap before he unfolded the papers and flattened them against the book and started reading. 

“‘Communication will be key. Neither of you can be afraid to speak your minds. Talk honestly and often. Do not let anything fester.’,” he read thoughtfully. His eyes darted down to the name at the bottom of the last page. “Amelia Markell,” he read. “Obviously the lady that gave her the books in the first place.” 

He hummed quietly to himself for a few minutes, his mind spinning in circles as he tried to look at every angle of the situation, choosing to see it as a puzzle. Puzzles could be solved. Puzzles could be broken down and approached in small steps until one found the answer. This… relationships and dynamics… they were far more complicated than anything he’d encountered before and he honestly counted himself lucky that he appeared to have kept his head above water thus far.

“Well, one immediate problem is we’re obviously not talking enough,” he mused, leaning back on his elbows with the letter clutched in one hand, his gaze directed out over the lake again. “If she’d  _told_  me this issue was bothering her, we might have been able to do something about it instead of her trying to force this into a session that way.” 

A minute later he let out a self deprecating snort. “You really don’t have a lot of room to talk, Potter. You still haven’t been completely upfront with her over your concerns. That’s something that’ll have to change as well.”

He sighed, letting his body fall back so he was staring up at the sky, continuing to work through the problem as best he could. 

“Communication is key, and we haven’t been communicating. Issue number one right there. Second… honestly I’m the biggest next problem. I still don’t like this punishment idea. I just don’t get it.” His eyes shot open and he suddenly sat up on the rock. “Fuck!” he blurted out. “Dammit, dammit, dammit. If we can fix this and keep going… dammit she broke the rules with that stunt. I pretty much  _have_  to punish her for that.”

With his entire body drawn taut with tension, he sat there wondering just when his life had gotten so much more complicated. If he punished her, she was basically getting what she’d wanted in the first place, wasn’t she? That would sort of defeat the purpose of his refusing to punish her before. Unless… unless he made it very clear why, which really, he needed to do anyway. There could be no ambiguity or doubt over  _why_  a punishment was given, that had been made very clear in what he’d read. So he has to make sure she knows what he is not punishing her for as well.

There was still the issue he had with even the thought of actually doing something like that to Hermione. Could he change the punishment? She’d specifically asked for a physical punishment, so what if he changed it to something else? Of course, what else would make a strong enough statement that could be contained within the timeframe of one of their sessions? The whole problem here was her trying to bring in something that’d happened outside the dynamic when she’d been the most insistent from the beginning on keeping the two separate.

Something physical seemed like the… the most appropriate response given the circumstances. But most of what he’d come across he would never even  _attempt_  without some way to practice or to make sure he wouldn’t accidentally hurt her more than intended.

He suddenly barked out a nervous laugh.

 _Am I actually thinking about practicing so that I don’t end up hurting my girlfriend_ more _than I intend to? As if that isn’t a completely fucked up thought to even have._

After another twenty minutes or so trying to work out the angles, he realized that he needed more information than the single volume in his hand could provide. Climbing off the rock after putting away both the letter and book he started off for the castle, his attention fixed on a single goal, and by the time he reached the Tower he was panting and sweating from his hurried passage through the castle and up the many stairs that had been between him and his destination. 

Giving the password to the Fat Lady, and carefully ignoring the security trolls that stood at either end of the hall, he waited for her portrait to swing open before stepping into the Common Room, his eyes sweeping across the room in search of a particular head of bushy brown hair. Spotting her was as easy as trying to find a Weasley, and he almost immediately located her across the room at one of the study tables in a far corner, her head bowed over a scroll of parchment.

As he started toward her though, two pairs of hands suddenly clamped down on him, one set on each arm, and he found himself being lifted bodily off the ground.

“Oh Seeker, our Seeker-”

“-come, join us for a little-”

“-discussion amongst friends.”

Harry was more than a little flummoxed, struggling against the firm grip the Weasley twins had on him, but escape proved to be nearly impossible as they carted him over to the opposite side of the room and dropped him into a chair. Before he could attempt to stand, they each dropped into a seat on either side of him, leaning a forearm on his shoulders to hold him in place, their expressions unusually serious.

“Guys, you want to let go of me... right now,” Harry bit out in as calm a tone as he could manage. He did  _not_  like people touching him, and if they wanted to talk, as was so clearly evident, they could do so calmly and without trying to hold him prisoner.

“Nothing doing, Harrykins,” Twin one intoned in a solemn voice. 

“We’ve got a bit of a bone to pick with you.”

“You can pick it without holding me down,” he snapped, anxiety rising in his chest with every passing second. “I don’t like being touched so just… let go of me!”

Both twins leaned away from him at his sudden outburst and he leaped to his feet. Turning he grabbed the chair they’d dropped him into and moved it a few feet away and then dropped down to straddle the chair, facing the twins with a space of a few feet in between them, his arms folded across the chair back.

“There,” he said, his breathing coming a little fast. “ _Now_  we can talk, but make it fast, I really need to talk to Hermione.”

Fred and George exchanged a look, communicating in that silent way that only twins are truly capable of, before they turned their attention back to him. 

“Sorry, Harry,” one of them said, honest regret in his voice.

“We didn’t realize.”

“I don’t like to talk about it. Just spit out what you need guys, please,” he said, adding the last word in an attempt to not appear too upset with them. Aside from everything else, he did consider the twins friends, or at least friendly. They were good guys, if a little too fond of trouble for his tastes but they didn’t appear to have a truly malicious bone in their bodies. 

“It’s about the-

“-beautiful Miss Granger-”

“-that we wanted to-”

“-talk to you.”

“Without the back and forth guys. I’ve had a rough enough day already, I don’t need to be dizzy on top of it.”

“Fine, Harry. Direct and to the point. You’re our Seeker. We’d like to think you’re a friend and an honorary Weasley. You saved our little sister’s life and we owe you beyond measure. But don’t think we won’t prank you to within an inch of your life if you don’t fix whatever you bolloxed up,” Twin one explained before his brother took up their story.

“As big of a stickler for the rules as she can be, we actually  _like_  Hermione. She’s a nice girl, and we don’t want to see anyone hurting her, not even you. Understand us, Harry?”

For a few moments Harry could only gape at them in astonishment before he was able to shake himself back to reality.

“What makes you so certain I did something wrong?” he asked, his eyes narrowing at them. “I’m not saying I’m entirely innocent, but you can’t just assume that I’m the only guilty party. Hermione actually came to me with something that I disagreed with. Something that upset and bothered me. Honestly, I'll admit that I didn’t handle it well. I stormed off instead of talking to her about it. I want to try to talk to her, but right now we’re both probably not in a very good place to be holding a conversation, so I just wanted to go sit with her for a bit and let her know we can work it out when we’re both a little calmer… I also needed to borrow a couple of books from her, if she’ll let me.”

Both redheads studied him carefully for several moments, judging his honesty before they nodded in perfect, but opposite unison. When one was tilting his head up the other was tilting down and they swapped back and forth for exactly four nods before they stopped.  _Seriously, do they practice those things? That’s way too perfect to just be off the cuff,_  Harry thought, slightly dizzied by the display. 

“Good to hear, Harry. We really didn’t want to prank you into the Hospital Wing.”

Standing, the two of them made to clap him on the shoulders before they suddenly hesitated and Harry shot them a rueful smile.

“It’s okay, guys. Go ahead.”

Grinning, they did so, each one picking one of his shoulders for a friendly pat before they started to walk away.

“Hey guys?” he asked before they got more than a few steps, causing them to turn, each arching the opposite brow quizzically in his direction.

“Thanks,” he said. “For looking out for her. It… it makes me feel better to know that she’s got a few extra eyes keeping her safe around here.”

“Pride o’ lions, Harrykins.”

“We might not always get it right, but we try to take care of our own.”

When the twins headed off to cause who knew what kind of chaos, Harry remained in his chair for a few minutes, just trying to relax his stiff muscles and calm himself before he faced Hermione. 

Finally he stood and made his way over to the table where Hermione had sequestered herself. Her books were piled around her, like a series of short walls cutting her off from the rest of the room leaving only a small gap directly across from her. Not that she would have seen as she kept her head over her parchment the whole time, her quill scratching away. As he sat quietly across from her he could hear her occasionally sniffling.

“Hermione?” he asked as gently as he could but the girl still jerked in her seat, her head snapping up for her reddened cinnamon colored eyes to fix on his.

“Harry? Harry! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Harry held up one hand to cut her off before she really got going then leaned forward, reaching for her hand across the table.

“I’m not saying yes to anything, Hermione,” he said after she’d taken his hand in her own, “but I’d like to look over the books again… if it’s okay with you, could I borrow them, please?”

He had to make it very clear to her that this wasn’t him asking as her Dom, if he even was that still. He had no idea how she’d taken his leaving their room earlier other than the evidence of her crying. For all he knew she wanted nothing more to do with him. He had to fight the urge to fidget as he waited for her response.

She nodded slowly, a cautiously hopeful expression on her face, and she gave his hand a squeeze before she let go and stood. 

“Let me… let me just go and get them,” she whispered. He nodded, giving her a small smile as she turned to go. 

As she ran up the stairs to the girl’s dorm Harry leaned back in his chair and let out a shaky sigh. “Okay, that was encouraging,” he murmured to himself. “She didn’t tell you to get lost, or go jump in the lake, or something.” He glanced over toward the stairs. “Of course, she could just be plotting to use her own brand of spell work to really show you how big a dick you’ve been to her-”

He cut off when he suddenly saw her bushy brown mane bobbing its way toward him over the crowd of students between him and the stairs before the rest of her came into view, the three books clutched almost desperately in her arms. When she reached, him he quickly stood to relieve her of the books. Glancing through them to see that they were the same ones he was familiar with, he shot her another soft smile. 

“Thank you,” he told her. 

“Harry, I really am so-”

“No, Hermione. We’ll talk about it tomorrow when we’re both calmer and I’ve had a chance to contemplate what I plan to read tonight, okay?”

A choked sob burst out of her and she suddenly threw herself at him, causing him to stagger back as he attempted to brace her and not drop the books he was holding. One arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closely against him as both of hers circled his neck, her face pressed into his shoulder. 

“I promise, we’ll talk tomorrow,” he murmured quietly against her ear. 

A few minutes later she was disentangling herself from him and stepping back, nodding her head repeatedly. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay, we’ll talk then. Just… just let me know, okay?”

He hesitated for a moment before he leaned toward her and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips for just a few seconds, before he pulled back and headed off to go up to his dorm. He had a significant amount of reading to do. 

 

##### 

 

As it turned out, there wasn’t quite as much reading needed as Harry originally suspected. It was the letters from the submissives that Hermione had specifically mentioned reading when coming to the decision that a painful punishment would somehow help relieve her guilt, so that was the first place that he checked. Of course, he still skimmed through much of the rest of the books, just in case.

“Dammit,” he growled, tossing the book in his hands onto the other three piled on his bed nearly an hour and a half after leaving Hermione down in the Common Room. “I’m honestly not sure whether to be happy that what they’re talking about makes sense, or pissed that what they’re talking about makes sense,” he muttered, letting out a gusty sigh.

He’d hoped that he would have been able to find something to refute her argument for this punishment, even though he knew he had to do something if they were going to continue. He winced a moment later as he considered the fact that the first time he’d done the reading he’d skipped over most of the sub letters, preferring to stick to the more factual seeming information within the book as opposed to anecdotal evidence from people with similar mindsets to Hermione’s. He wanted a view from the other side of the equation, but most of what he’d found only talked about rewards and punishments in terms of reinforcing wanted behavior, or discouraging unwanted behavior.  

He needed to talk to a Dom… or maybe someone else that’s super submissive. He sat against the headboard of his bed, arms crossed over his chest and staring off into space, not really seeing the closed curtains that surrounded him for some time. Slowly, his eyes widened, as an odd idea formed in his head.

He sat up straight in his bed and called out, “Dobby?” 

A moment later there was an ear- splitting crack and Dobby appeared standing on the comforter in front of him, bouncing excitedly from one socked foot to the other. “The Great Harry Potter, Sir calls for Dobby again!” the little elf squeaked out. “How cans Dobby be helping Harry Potter, Sir?”

Harry made several shushing sounds and scrambled for his wand, casting a number of quick silencing charms at the bed curtains to hopefully contain the little guy’s excited squeaking.

“Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter, Sir,” Dobby mumbled, his ears drooping even as he hung his head, shamefully; grabbing one of the books on Harry’s bed to beat against his head. 

“That’s okay, Dobby,” Harry assured him, quickly pulling the book to safety. “I should have remembered the charms before calling you.”

Dobby appeared to perk up a bit at that; his posture straightening a bit. “How cans Dobby be helping the Great Harry Potter, Sir?” he squeaked out again and Harry leaned back against his headboard, after moving the remaining books out of Dobby’s reach. 

“Umm… I was actually hoping that I could just talk to you for a bit?” Harry asked, his mind spinning as he tried to figure out just what he could say to Dobby. 

With a confused look on his face Dobby still nodded, his large ears flapping back and forth with the rapid motion of his head. 

“Why do you punish yourself that way?” Harry asked, gesturing to the book that he’d pulled from the elf’s hands.

“If Dobby be bads, Dobby must punish hisself.”

“But why?” Harry asked, frustration entering his voice.

“Dobby not understand, Harry Potter, Sir,” Dobby squeaked out, his eyes shifting back and forth rapidly as if looking for something he could use to hit himself with.

“Dobby!” Harry barked and the little elf jumped to attention, his arms snapping to his sides as he stood up, ramrod straight. “I’m trying to talk to you, Dobs, and I can’t do that if you’re looking for something to pummel yourself with, understand?”

“Yes, Harry Potter, Sir. Dobby understands.”

Harry paused, studying the little elf critically for a moment before he let out a groan as he realized what he’d just done. 

“Well… shite,” he muttered, rubbing furiously at his forehead for a moment in frustration. “Dobby… Okay. Dobby, sit down,” he said, keeping his voice calm but making it clear that this was not a request. To his slight surprise, Dobby sat, crossing his legs under him on the bed with his long fingered hands resting in his lap. 

“Dobby, I really need you to tell me why you punish yourself when you think you’ve done something wrong?”

“Because Dobby musts,” he squeaked out and Harry groaned again. 

“Dammit Dobs, that doesn’t actually tell me anything,” he mumbled to himself. Without looking toward the elf, Harry spoke up, “do not punish yourself Dobby,” he said and a moment later he heard something thump onto the mattress nearby and held out his right hand. “Give it.” When one of his school texts was placed in his hand Harry sighed and set the book aside. 

Harry’s frown deepened and he turned his attention back to Dobby who was looking a little nervous but otherwise holding almost unnaturally still, his bulbous green eyes fixed on Harry.

“Dobby… is it just you or do all elves punish themselves if they think they’ve done something wrong?”

“Dobby is house elf… house elves is house elves,” Dobby squeaked.

“But why? Especially over something minor? If it’s something small then bashing yourself over the head with something heavy doesn’t make any sense.”

Dobby shrugged his slender shoulders and Harry groaned again. 

“Cans… cans Dobby be asking a question of the Great Harry Potter, Sir?” Dobby hesitantly asked a few minutes later.

“Sure, Dobby. In fact, you can always ask me a question if you don’t understand something… at least if you won’t be interrupting me while I’m doing anything, okay?”

Dobby nodded rapidly again, his ears almost slapping him in the face. 

“Is the Great Harry Potter, Sir, trying to decide how to punish his Missy Miney?”

“Not so much how but why,” Harry bit out without thinking. A moment later he jerked up in his spot, his eyes swiveling over to Dobby. “Wait… what?” he asked sharply.

“House Elves be hearing things,” Dobby admitted, tugging on his ears with both hands. “Dobby did not wish to upset the Great Harry Potter, Sir.”

“I’m not upset, Dobby. Stop tugging on your ears, it’s okay, really.” Harry reached forward and gently pried Dobby’s hands from his ears. “I’m not upset,” he repeated. “I was just surprised.”

“Why does the Great Harry Potter, Sir not understand why?” 

“Huh? What do you mean?” Harry asked. “And can you please call me something a little shorter? That’s quite a mouthful you’re using right now. Just Harry is fine, Dobs.”

Dobby squirmed uncomfortably in his spot on the bed but nodded a few times, his tiny brow deeply furrowed. 

“Harry Potter, Sir says he is not knowing why to punish his Missy Miney. Why is he not knowing why?”

Harry considered that carefully for a few minutes before he let out another long sigh.

“Make yourself comfortable, Dobby,” he said. “I think we’re going to be here for a while.”

 

##### 

 

Despite the promise he’d made, the next day was a particularly painful one for Hermione, as the time wore on but she didn’t seem to get a single opportunity to talk to Harry alone, and he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get  _her_  alone to discuss their situation. Added to that frustration was something she’d largely thought herself above, once she was old enough to understand the concept. 

Valentine’s Day. 

She hadn’t honestly been expecting much. She hadn’t expected anything before, but she had a boyfriend now, and for the first time in her life, she honestly felt that Harry might have at least acknowledged the day; but by the time they were heading down to the Great Hall for lunch, he hadn’t said a single word about it.

She wasn’t sure if that was just Harry being a boy and not quite understanding what the day could mean for his girlfriend, or if it was a result of their implosion from the day before. As it was, they’d spent the entire day together, for the classes they had together at least, and he wasn’t acting as if anything unusual was going on. Something that drove her to no end of distraction while attempting to puzzle out his behavior.

Sitting down at one end of the Gryffindor table she pulled her Arithmancy text from her bag, propped it up in front of her plate and set about eating her fill, her eyes scanning across the pages as she carefully worked her way through her food. 

She was nearly half way through her plate when a sudden hush fell over the Hall, catching her attention and causing her to look up from her book. A vast majority of the students at each table had turned away from their usual meal time conversations and were looking up toward the Great Hall’s enchanted ceiling, curious expressions etched on their faces and, without thinking, Hermione followed the direction of their gaze to see a single white owl swooping around the rafters.

“Hedwig?” she muttered, staring up at her boyfriend’s familiar for a moment before she turned to her right to ask him what was going on, only to find the bench beside her was empty.

“Where’d Harry go?” she asked, looking over her book and across the table at Ron.

He shrugged, his mouth stuffed full of food but thankfully didn’t attempt to answer her.

“He said he had somewhere to be about ten minutes ago,” Neville offered from where he was sitting on Ron’s left and Ron nodded rapidly several times just as Hedwig came swooping down and landed on the table where Harry had been sitting. 

“Hey, Hedwig,” she greeted the beautiful owl. “What’re you doing here?”

Hedwig barked at her, large golden eyes regarding her for a moment before she turned her body slightly and extended one talon toward her to show the small package that was tied to her leg. 

Hermione bit back the nearly instinctive desire to ask, ‘is that for me?’, since Hedwig was far too smart to ever deliver something to the wrong person and instead she simply set about freeing the owl of her burden. Before taking off, Hedwig nipped gently at her fingers a few times and then threw herself into the air, her large wings quickly carrying her away from the table and Hermione was left staring at the small package.

Setting it down she cast a quick Finite at it, just in case, and was rewarded with the box nearly doubling in size. Burning with curiosity now, she didn’t even notice the many eyes that were fixed on her as she opened the box and reached in to gently remove a single, perfect red rose and a beautiful silk ribbon the exact color of Harry’s eyes. She couldn’t help the delighted smile that spread across her lips and she briefly looked around again, hoping for some hint of her wayward boyfriend, but he was nowhere in sight. 

As the sounds of conversation began to pick up again around her, she looked in the box again to find a small piece of parchment neatly folded at the bottom. Quickly pulling it out, she read:

 

_Mine,_

_A friend told me of a better room to use up on the seventh floor... directly across from the painting of Barnabus the Barmy teaching trolls ballet... go there as soon as you finish lunch. We’ll find the **time**  we need for our discussion afterwards._

_\- Sir_

 

For a few moments, Hermione was struck by a sudden case of indecision. She wanted to immediately pack up her book and gifts so she could head straight for this room Harry’s note mentioned. But at the same time, his note had specifically said for her to go when she finished lunch, which she hadn’t yet done. 

Deciding quickly, she packed away her book and carefully placed the rose down on top of her bag before she used the ribbon to tie her hair back, and then set to finishing her meal as fast as she could without looking like she was trying to beat out Ron for worst table manners. By the time she was starting to feel full she considered herself done, even if a quarter of her food still remained on her plate, so she snatched up her rose and bag, practically fleeing from the Great Hall to make her way up to the seventh floor. 

After a bit of searching, she located the tapestry, but she didn’t remember there being a room located across from it before, however when she arrived there was very clearly a dark wooden door set into the wall directly across from the tapestry. 

“I’m  _positive_  that this wasn’t here before,” she muttered, giving the door a puzzled examination as she approached and slowly reached out to turn the handle, her heart pounding in her chest. The door opened smoothly and she stepped through into…. She blinked, looking around curiously at what appeared to be a rather comfortably appointed sitting room. A deep plush carpet covered the floor beneath her feet and the stone walls were a dark grey. Directly opposite the door where two large overstuffed arm chairs set facing each other in front of a large fireplace where a cheerfully crackling blaze burned. 

“Come on in, Hermione,” Harry said, standing up from one of the chairs to beckon her further into the room. She moved forward as if in a daze, her eyes moving constantly, trying to take in every detail of the room. 

“I don’t understand,” she suddenly said, causing Harry to chuckle. “Where did this room come from? I’m positive that there wasn’t anything here the last time I came by this way.”

“There’s a bit of an explanation behind that,” Harry admitted, grinning broadly at her. “But I think that can wait for later. Right now I believe we have a few more important things to discuss, don’t you?”

With that reminder, Hermione brought herself back to the matter at hand and nodded, moving over to pull him into a hug before taking a seat in one of the chairs, her bag resting on the floor beside her, but she kept the rose clutched gently in her hands.

“This is beautiful, Harry, thank you. And for the ribbon too.” she said, reaching up to brush her hand across it.

“I like how you decided to put it to use,” he offered, smiling almost shyly at her. She felt the sense of hope that’d been built up by the note with her gifts lift just a little bit more. He didn’t seem angry with her. And his note had called her ‘Mine’. So, hopefully, he didn’t want to stop what they were doing either.

“So, why are we here… Harry?” She said his name hesitantly, not entirely sure if she shouldn’t be calling him ‘Sir’ but he had used her name first so…

He nodded and shifted a bit in his seat before he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. 

“We have a few things we need to discuss, Hermione,” he said. “More specifically, I have a few questions I want to ask you and I need you… I really need you to be one-hundred percent honest with me. But I’m not asking as your Dom. I’m not asking as your boyfriend. I’m asking you as Harry Potter, your friend, and someone who cares about you a great deal…. Do you think you can do that?”

Her head nodded up and down rapidly. “I promise, Harry.”

“Okay,” he breathed out before sitting back in his seat again. “Are we still together? As in, are we still a couple? Or did I completely screw up everything that was good in my life when I walked out of that room yesterday?”

Tears almost immediately sprang into her eyes, and Hermione had to take a moment to gather herself before she could respond. “Of course we’re still together. I never considered that we might have broken up.”

Harry’s sigh of relief was practically a palpable presence in and of itself, as his body seemed to deflate and for a moment, she caught a glimpse of the insecurity that he kept so well hidden from everyone.

“I’m really,  _really_  glad to hear that,” he eventually muttered. “I was really worried I’d done something that I wouldn’t be able to fix.”

“I’m the one that scr-”

“No,” he cut her off. “We each made our own mistakes, but instead of staying and trying to talk, I ran off. I shouldn’t have done that, I know that. But that kind of brings us to my next question. Is this dynamic still something you want?”

There she hesitated for a moment, chewing absently at her lower lip. “I do,” she finally admitted. “But if you don’t, I’m willing to drop it if it’s just going to cause us problems.”

“I didn’t ask what you thought I wanted, Hermione,” he said, softly. “I asked what you wanted. You still want it. Don’t you?”

She hesitated again before reluctantly nodding her head. She’d spent half the night convincing herself that if she needed to, to keep Harry she’d drop the dynamic from their relationship. “I do,” she said again. “I’m… I’m willing to drop it, but I can’t pretend I don’t still want it. I feel like I need it even more at times.”

“I’m not at all against the dynamic, Hermione. But I think that we both need to put some more effort into it if we don’t want it to cause more problems like it did yesterday. I was looking through that first book you gave me yesterday afternoon and I found the letter that your Librarian wrote to you. Missus Markell, right?” he asked.

“Yes, I’ve known her since I was four, actually,” she said curious as to where he was going with this.

“Well there was a certain couple of lines in there that caught my attention, and I realized that we haven’t been following her advice very well... either of us.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a piece of parchment and unfolded it. 

“Read this bit out loud, please,” he said pointing to a place on the letter as he handed it over to her. 

“‘Communication will be key. Neither of you can be afraid to speak your minds. Talk honestly and often. Do not let anything fester.’” she read dutifully.

“We haven't been communicating; not well anyway. If you'd talked to me about your concerns, and if I'd talked about mine, we could have avoided all this.”

Hermione nodded slowly, mentally cursing herself for forgetting something so utterly basic. She’d even been specifically warned to make sure they talked honestly and openly, and she’d completely forgotten it by being swept up in everything else that had been happening.

“If you want to continue as we were, I think we need to make a concentrated effort to talk to each other, Hermione,” Harry muttered, drawing her attention away from the parchment in her hand and back to him. He was leaning forward again, his eyes almost appearing to glow in the light of the fire as he gazed intently at her. 

“We can’t keep doing this to ourselves. I don’t want to lose you, and I’m worried we’ll do more damage than we can fix if we can’t talk to each other, even about those things that we’re not sure of or we find difficult.” He blew out a long sigh. “I know I’m going to have a lot of trouble with that, but can I trust you to help me with it? Can I trust you to talk to me before things get so bottled up that you want to explode?”

“Absolutely, Harry,” she assured him. “I want this. I want you. I want us to keep moving forward.”

“I do, too. I admit I was reluctant about this whole thing, but I didn’t want to just abandon you. I know that’s not the best motivation, but I really have enjoyed this. We just need to work together a little more, and talk to each other a lot more. I’m finally starting to really understand what’s needed, I think. We’re not going to be perfect going forward. We’re both still going to make mistakes. But I think we can work through them if we just keep talking, keep being honest with each other, and we don’t let the mistakes rule us. Right?”

Her smile was actually hurting her cheeks it was so wide, and she couldn’t have stopped if she’d tried. She didn’t want to try. She was just too happy, too thrilled with everything he was saying to her to even think of wiping away the evidence of the utter joy that filled her. 

All she could do was nod her head in response to his question and he stood, holding a hand out to her.

“Come here?” he asked. “I’d like to hug and kiss my girlfriend before we get down to a different conversation.”

There could have been a spring in the seat of her chair for how quickly Hermione sprung out of it and into his arms, pressing herself tightly against him as her lips found his. The relief that he wasn’t abandoning their relationship, or their dynamic, was overpowering, and she couldn’t put enough of herself into that kiss.

Eventually though, their lips parted and she let out a contented sigh, resting her head against his shoulder for several quiet minutes before his hands slip up her arms to her shoulders, gently pushing her away from him, yet smiling at her all the while. 

“We still have a lot we need to talk about,” he murmured quietly to her. “But we needed to get this out of the way first.”

As he spoke she witnessed the same shift in his posture and his expression that she’d noted before. The shift from Harry Potter, boyfriend, to Sir, the man that controlled her and owned her in ways she couldn’t yet comprehend. 

“You’re absolutely certain, Mine?” he asked, one last time. 

“Absolutely, Sir. Please. I promise you, I want this and want to make it work. I’ll do everything I can to be the sub you want,” she pleaded.

“All right then.” Stepping back he pointed at the ground in front of the fireplace. “Student,” he said, and she moved instantly to get into her position, back to the fire and facing his chair which he turned so that it was facing her. Instead of sitting, he moved so that he was standing directly in front of her for a moment.

A moment later he knelt in front of her. Her eyes widened as he reached out and gently tucked a lock of her hair behind her left ear, that sensation of a punch to the gut striking her again.

“These are because of yesterday,” he told her softly as he pulled the lock of hair forward and then tucked it behind her ear a second time. “We both made mistakes, and I will do my very best to make up for mine, but this is for your mistakes.” The third time he tucked her hair behind her ear, she became aware that tears were dripping down her cheeks. 

“We’re going to discuss the mistakes you made, and how to avoid them in the future. Do you understand, Mine?”

“Yes, Sir,” she choked out, her chest heaving as she tried to fight back the sobs that wanted to escape her. 

“Hey,” he whispered, tilting her head up to meet his gaze with one hand cupped under her chin, his grip firm but gentle. Possessive. “ _We_  are going to get better, and figure this out. I don’t want to hurt you, or upset you, but you need to understand. This is to teach you, right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He smiled, hand still holding her chin and leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. 

“Good girl,” he murmured and she shivered, both at the words and the sensation of his lips moving against her skin. 

“Take a moment to calm down. We still have a little bit longer to talk before we need to get moving,” he told her as he stood and moved over to his chair, sinking into it and crossing his right leg over his left again. 

She nodded, taking several deep breaths, her eyes closed as she pulled herself together. When she finally felt as if she was able to continue, she opened her eyes and looked directly into his. 

“I’m ready, Sir.”

“Good,” he said briskly, “because I have a homework assignment for you, Mine. We are going to have to sit down and talk out this dynamic, perhaps the details need to be adjusted, the rules may need to be reworked so that everything runs smoothly. We’ll see. That conversation can wait two days.”

A sudden question burned in her mind, but she kept quiet despite the almost overwhelming urge to acquire knowledge. He must have seen something in her face because he nodded to her. “Go ahead,” he told her.

“What’s in two days, Sir?”

“In two days, I am going to punish you, Mine.”

The sentence was delivered with a calm assurance, a sense of inevitability as if there was absolutely no way that she would  _not_  be receiving the punishment that he had planned for her, and her breath caught in her throat in anticipation.

He was  _actually_  going to punish her like she’d asked? But yesterday he’d been so set against the idea. What had changed?

“That is actually where your homework assignment comes in. You see, Mine. I will  _not_  be punishing you because of what you did by going to Professor McGonagall about the Firebolt. I will  _never_  punish you for that. It hurt, but I have forgiven you. You will need to find a way to forgive yourself. No, your punishment is in regard to something else that you did yesterday, and that is your assignment. When I meet you in this room on Wednesday, you will give me a full accounting of what you did wrong, as best as you can recall. 

“Those actions, that’s what you are going to be punished for. We will discuss them. We will make sure that you understand precisely how you earned your punishment before it is carried out. And don’t forget, there will be no punishment that you don’t agree to. If you don’t feel you can, honestly, tell me, and we’ll figure out something else. Do you understand.”

Hermione bowed her head, meekly squeaking out a quiet, “Yes, Sir.”

“Wednesday afternoon, after your last class, you will come directly here and you will get into position. You will wear the outfit that Hedwig delivered to you earlier at lunch. Do you understand?” he asked. 

Hermione frowned, thinking over the package that had been attached to Hedwig’s leg. Had she missed something? Had there been another package that she didn’t see? No, Hedwig wouldn’t have left without making sure all her burdens had been removed.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Sir, I don’t understand.”

“What was unclear?”

“The… outfit that you mentioned. The only items in the package were the rose and this gorgeous ribbon.” For a moment she almost lifted one hand to touch the ribbon but she managed to stop herself and he smiled at her, obviously pleased with her actions.

“That’s right,” he said, only serving to confuse her more.

“Wha… Sir, I’m sorry, I still don’t understand.”

“Take the ribbon out of your hair, Mine,” he told her and she quickly obeyed, handing the ribbon over when he held his hand out to her. As soon as the ribbon was in his possession, she immediately placed her hands behind her back again and watched as he held the ribbon up in front of her. 

“This is the outfit I wish for you to wear,” he told her. Her eyes slowly widened as she began to understand his meaning. “When you arrive here in two days, you will remove your clothes, all of them. You will place this ribbon around your neck, and then assume the Student position and wait for me until I arrive. Do you understand?”

 _Naked!_  He wanted her kneeling, completely naked, with only that ribbon around her neck for her punishment, for the entire session! Her pulse pounded in her ears and she knew instantly when her cheeks bloomed into a furious blush at his words. 

He waited calmly, watching her carefully for any reaction, she assumed, and in the end, there was really only one thing she could possibly say.

“Yes, Sir.”

 


	8. Consequences and Truth

For the rest of the day, Hermione found it incredibly difficult to concentrate on her classes. Many times she would find her hand had strayed to the ribbon once again tied in her hair as she thought about the fact that in two days she would be on display in front of her Sir, wearing nothing but that beautiful ribbon around her neck. The very thought did so many contradictory things to her; it was maddening, even as she loved every minute of it. She was at once completely turned on by the idea of Harry being able to see every bit of her, that her Sir would be able to properly examine his property, because she did belong to him.

  
At the same time the idea of being so exposed, so completely vulnerable was intimidating, embarrassing, and even a little humiliating, because it made her a thing, something to be objectified and coveted, and yet somehow those feelings turned her on even more. She had to push such thoughts carefully from her mind, but after they’d left the room in order to Turn back an hour before heading off to their afternoon classes, she would find her hands straying to that ribbon, and the thoughts came flooding back, making the problem of keeping her mind on task much more difficult.

  
She ended up having to wait until that evening, after dinner, to try and think over the homework assignment Harry had given her. When she presented herself in less than two days, she needed to give a full accounting her mistakes. Sir had indicated that there were three things she had done wrong... and that he didn't count the Firebolt incident as one of those mistakes... so what were they? Speaking out of turn regarding the dynamic? Okay, maybe she shouldn't have done that. Bringing in things from outside? Yeah, that had definitely been a huge lapse of judgement on her part. But what was the third?

  
Maybe when she raised her voice to him? No… that would fall under the category of speaking out of turn.

  
 _Focus_ , she admonished herself as she sat near the fire in the Common Room waiting for Harry to return from his meeting with Professor McGonagall. She really wanted to have this figured out before he came back, but her attention kept wandering to what exactly was he going to do to her on Wednesday? She’d requested a physical punishment, but she wasn’t certain if that’s what he would actually do, and since this wasn’t going to be a punishment over the Firebolt… did she still _want_ a physical punishment?

  
 _It doesn’t matter what you want_ , she reminded herself. _If he decides to punish you with pain, then you don’t have any choice in the matter... not unless you use the safeword._

  
She had two days to figure this out, and she wasn’t called the brightest witch of her age for nothing. She could figure this out. She _would_. If only she could stop worrying over what was coming and _focus_! She very nearly growled, throwing down the book she’d been trying, and failing, to read onto the sofa next to her. Dammit, he really was getting good at this whole thing. Or did he not realize that by giving her so much damn time until her punishment, that he would be driving her crazy with worry? That her mind would conjure up one possible punishment after another, simply to torture her?

  
One thing she could honestly say, is the constant concern had certainly distracted her from her stressful class load. She’d completed the day’s assignments without even really noticing what she was doing. Looking back over her Transfiguration essay, however, she decided that the quality was more than up to her usual standards despite her distracted state.

  
By the time Harry finally came into the Common Room she was certain that she looked a frightful mess. The ribbon in her hair was likely the only thing preventing it from being a frazzled cloud around her head, dark ink stains dotted her hands, and she could feel her bottom lip was swollen from the near constant worrying at it with her teeth. The minute she caught sight of him however, all other thoughts left her head as she focused her attention on her boyfriend; watching him intently as he made his way, almost casually, toward her. More than once he stopped to chat with one person or another, the longer he took to reach her the more tense she became.

  
Her eyes narrowed dangerously when she noticed him looking in her direction out of the corner of his eye, a small smirk twisting his lips for a moment before he turned his attention back to Oliver Wood. The boy was teasing her! He knew she was anxious to hear what their Head of House’s decision had been regarding his classes, and he was purposely taking his time getting to her, just to make her wait.

  
 _Oooohh… you're lucky you’re cute, Potter_ , she thought when he finally started moving toward her again.

  
“What’d she say?” she practically demanded before he even had a chance to take the seat next to her on the sofa. Harry chuckled, amused by her behavior as he sat and wrapped one arm around her shoulders, pulling her close against his side.

  
“Anxious are we?” he asked, smirking at her; she swatted his chest lightly with one hand.

  
“You’re killing me here, Harry,” she whined. “Come on, this is cruel and unusual.”

  
“All right,” he laughed. “She said that I managed to improve in all my classes but one. My Potions grade still isn’t what it should be, _but,_ ” he added quickly before she could blow up, “she is aware that Professor Snape and I don’t exactly get along well, so to be certain, she had some of my earlier essays and my newest ones looked at by an outside party over the weekend. They said they would consider my newer work to be ‘of much greater quality and showing an increased understanding of the subject material.’ Professor Babbling was there, McGonagall said that she called her in once she saw my grades were up high enough, and Professor Babbling gave me a short test covering some of the midterm exam material to see where I was.”

  
“And?” she asked, her body tensing eagerly in anticipation of his answer.

  
“ _And_ I’m not quite where the rest of the class is, actually probably a few months behind still, but she said for only two weeks of mostly self study she was impressed, and if I could keep up that pace she thinks I could catch up with the class before too long. So I get to go to Ancient Runes with you tomorrow.”

  
Hermione turned and suddenly threw herself at him, knocking them both over onto the couch as her mouth covered his, a pleased squeal escaping her just before their lips sealed together. It was the catcalls and wolf whistles from those still in the Common Room that got her to back off of him, her face blooming a vibrant red, and Harry couldn’t keep a silly grin off his face as they both sat back up; Hermione enveloping him in a hug once again.

  
“‘Oh, I’m _so_ proud of you, Harry,” she cried happily. “I knew you could do it. This is going to be so much fun, I’ll help you study to catch up, I promise. I’ve been having a much easier time of it lately with my other classes and I can help quiz you so you’ll be able to keep up with the class…” For several more minutes she rambled on, bouncing excitedly in the seat next to him as Harry simply sat, smiling almost serenely at her.

  
“What?” she asked when she finally noticed his expression some minutes later. “What’s that look for?”

  
He shrugged, his expression remaining fixed. “I just think it’s cute how excited you get about learning new things and helping other people. You have such a… a thirst for knowledge that it absolutely amazes me,” he said in the calmest, most sincere tone she thought she’d ever heard from anyone before and she nearly instantly blushed under his praise.

  
“Nobody else seems to appreciate it,” she mumbled, trying to wave away the compliments.

  
“Well everyone else is stupid. Your delivery might need some work at times, I’ll admit. You can come off as a bit bossy, Hermione. But I think I’ve learned enough about you to realize that you’re just eager to help, you don’t mean to seem bossy but you can’t always help it.”

  
Her blush deepened and she quickly turned and dug in her bag for her Ancient Runes text.

  
“All right,” she said, blatantly changing the subject. “Let me quiz you. We’ll start with the Elder Futhark alphabet and move on from there?”

  
He smiled again and leaned back on the sofa. “Go for it,” he said, and they spent the better part of the next two hours going over Ancient Runes before they finally headed to their respective dorms to rest. Despite her best efforts, Hermione laid awake for several hours, turning over Sir’s homework assignment in her mind, attempting to find the third reason for her punishment, yet by the time she finally fell asleep, she was no closer to an answer than she had been before.

 

#####

 

For Hermione, Tuesday seemed to pass by in a blink. Immediately after breakfast she left with Harry to show him to the Ancient Runes classroom, so he could speak to Professor Babbling before class started. He would sit in on the classes but work at his own pace, while Hermione kept up with the rest of the class. The professor agreed to let Hermione tutor him using her notes to help him get closer to where the rest of them were. Eventually he’d have to start working with the current material but both Hermione and the professor had every confidence in him based on what he’d managed to do so far.

  
Harry had spent a large part of the morning blushing at the uncommonly heard praise over something he’d actually done, as opposed to people going on about something that he had no memory of, and no one could say for sure was honestly because of anything special about him. When the rest of the class had come in, Hermione had proudly introduced him to Susan Bones and Daphne Greengrass. The fact that she was friendly with a Slytherin had caused a raised eyebrow, but he’d recovered quickly and the four of them settled in, chatting for the few minutes before the class officially started.

  
Just before leaving the class, Harry thanked Susan for mentioning to Hermione that her Aunt worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Due to Hermione’s suggestion, he had actually written to Madam Bones, and she’d sent a response letting him know that she would look into it, expressing her apologies that no one had thought to do so before then. If there was anyone in the world that deserved to read those records, she’d written, it was him. Susan had seemed a touch confused by the sudden gratitude, but she’d taken it in stride and simply said ‘you’re welcome’ before she left the room.

  
With how quickly Tuesday had passed her by, Hermione was more than a touch frustrated by the fact that Wednesday seemed to be dragging on slower than any day she could remember. Through every class, she could swear the Second Hand on her watch was ticking slower and slower, she was almost convinced that it would start moving backwards at any moment, without the need for her Time Turner.

  
She was a massive bundle of nerves and roiling emotions from the moment she’d woken up that day. One moment she was afraid, nigh unto terrified, of what was waiting for her that afternoon; the next she found herself nearly dripping with anticipation over the thought of the whole experience. Not that she felt she was going to enjoy this punishment, but how Sir had told her, the calm certainty in his eyes and in his voice, the inevitability of it; the memory of it made her shudder as she knew that today was going to be the first time he truly, completely dominated her.

  
Thus far there had only been moments, good ones true. Great ones, even. He’d been doing very well at distracting her from her worries and concerns, but there had still been those hints of doubt that had sometimes shown through. She’d found getting into the proper headspace easier lately since he’d started adding rules for her to follow when waiting for him at the start of each session, but she was also falling out of it at times when Harry found himself feeling a bit unsure.

  
The confidence that he’d shown. The absolute _certainty_ that he would order her to submit to whatever it was he intended to do to her, and there was no doubt whatsoever in his mind that’s exactly what she would do… she had never wanted him more than she had in that moment.

  
That memory constantly distracted her during her classes as her mind would randomly throw out one possible scenario after another. She envisioned herself, quite without meaning to, with her wrists cuffed together and the chain between them looped over a hook suspended from the ceiling, her back and arse covered in red marks from her punishment. For another moment she was strapped securely to a bed, her body open and vulnerable to his whims. Other times she had a vision of herself, bent over a table, her arms stretched to the sides with her wrists restrained at the tables edge, legs spread wide with her ankles also cuffed to the table legs. Harry stood behind her and to one side carefully studying the stripes across her arse that he’d left with a thin wooden switch or a cane that he held loosely in one hand.

  
 _You just might have an interest in bondage, Hermione_ , she thought to herself when she realized that every idea she was coming up with had her bound and helpless in some way. More than once Harry had nudged her with his elbow during one of their shared classes and she’d find that some minutes had passed wherein she’d spaced out, wondering over what he might do to her. It was both thrilling and absolutely infuriating at the same time. Especially as each time he brought her out of a daze she’d fallen into, she’d notice a smug smirk on his lips and a knowing gleam in his eyes that fairly shouted he was well aware of what was distracting her so thoroughly.

  
That damn smirk made her feel so many things. She’d been shocked the day before when she’d realized that Harry had never really smirked before they’d begun this dynamic. Grinned? Yes? Smiled? Absolutely, though not nearly as often as she’d have liked. But smirked? No, she’d never seen him smirk before. Since he’d started controlling her however, his confidence seemed to be growing by leaps and bounds as he definitely appeared to enjoy the control he had over her, hence the tiny little smirk that had started to fuel the fires of her dreams.

  
When Arithmancy, her final class of the day, ended, Hermione had to restrain herself from sprinting her way to the Room on the seventh floor. Sir’s order had been to go there immediately after class, but it wouldn't do to draw attention to herself. She walked as calmly as she could up to the seventh floor, moving past the entrance to the Tower, and found a completely different door waiting for her across from the tapestry.

  
Sir had explained the Room’s unique properties to her, but she hadn't been entirely certain she believed it possible until now. Whereas before the door had been simple and made of a dark colored wood, it was now much more ornate, of a lighter color, and had a large brass handle set in the center. With her heart practically in her throat, she turned the handle and pulled open the door.

The sitting room from Monday was gone; in its place was something entirely different. The fireplace was still there, or a similar one at least, however instead of a pair of chairs there was a small sofa against one wall, a simple wooden table set off center of the middle of the room, and in the exact center, about fifteen feet from the fireplace stood a comfortable looking chair facing the fire. 

The floor beneath her feet and the walls were stone, and light was provided by a series of lanterns that hung from brackets set at regular intervals along the walls. Setting her bag down on the sofa, she noticed a small wooden chest on the floor next to the sofa itself, and from where she stood, she could see a piece of parchment laying on the table. Moving over curiously, she picked it up and read the note.

_Mine-_

_I had to set up the room so I was here when you arrived, but I kept under my dad’s cloak. Don’t try to find me now because by the time you read this I’ll have already left. You know your orders. You may use the top drawer in the chest by the sofa, but do not use the cushioning charm as we have been. The Room is set up so that only you or I may enter, so don’t worry about someone randomly coming across the door and deciding to investigate. I will be back soon, though I won’t tell you how long you have until I arrive. So you might want to get a move on._

_-Sir_

Finishing the note, she couldn’t help but let her eyes sweep the room again. Was he really gone? Or was he standing there under his cloak, watching her? It didn’t really matter, since she was going to do this either way, however a little thrill passed through her at the idea that he might be there waiting to watch her undress. She winced slightly over the idea of doing without the cushioning charm, but she couldn’t deny it would be effective. Really, Sir had been very easy on her. Despite commanding and controlling her, he was still treating her with the same kind of tenderness and care that he did when he was just Harry, her boyfriend.

  
With another glance at the note, she reminded herself that she had no idea how long she had to get ready, so she set it down and quickly went about removing her clothes, which she placed in the plain wooden chest as ordered. She removed the ribbon from her hair and placed it around her neck, tying it carefully so that it would be snug without constricting, and also so that she avoided creasing the soft material. For a moment she stood there examining the new sensation of the ribbon wrapped around her throat, and she could only determine that the reaction it caused in her body was extremely pleasurable. She would have to try to analyze her feelings on it more later.

  
Moving to a spot midway between the fireplace and the chair, she knelt and carefully arranged herself in the Student pose. For a few minutes she was hyper aware of the fact that she was completely naked. The air around her wasn’t exceptionally cool, but it felt so against her bare skin, especially across her breasts and between her legs. The anticipation of what was going to happen, the knowledge that at any minute, Sir was going to come into the room and see her completely open to him… she shivered in expectation. She’d been wet even before she’d undressed, and was even more so now. The air whispering against her damp flesh had goosebumps racing across her body. She shook her head, trying to ignore the sensations in her body; letting her mind wander while she waited.

  
While she did, she considered the Room itself, and the brief conversation that she’d had with Harry the day before popped into her head. To be more precise it was a question she’d asked him that he’d answered in a distracted state. They had been sitting on the sofa in the Common Room, both of them reading a different book, but she’d been distracted by the frown on her boyfriend’s face. Finally, unable to contain herself any longer, she’d asked what was bothering him. He’d shrugged and muttered absently ‘Just been thinking how the Room limits things a little’.

  
What had he been talking about, though? She wondered. The Room as he’d described it, and what she’d seen of it so far, seemed like it would only help expand what they could do, what they could try, where before they were lacking in certain things. This Room could probably produce items for their use that they wouldn’t have been likely to get anytime soon otherwise. So what limits was he talking about? She resolved to bring that question up during their upcoming conversation and came out of her musings to realize that she’d slumped over slightly in her pose while she was thinking. Just as she straightened back into position, she heard a quiet click, when the door swung closed.

#####

As soon as the door opened and Hermione came fully into the Room, Harry slipped out behind her before the door had swung completely shut. Outside in the hall he removed his dad’s cloak, folded it and stuffed it into one of his robes pockets before he settled in to wait. He’d decided ahead of time that he would give her twenty minutes. Plenty of time for her to prepare, if she didn’t get too distracted wondering about the Room, or contemplating the orders that he’d left her.

  
The last two days had passed agonizingly slowly for Harry. He understood the importance of proper punishment in situations like these. At least, he understood as well as he thought he could. He still didn’t _get_ it, but he got that it was important to the sub, and a part of his role as Dom was seeing to her needs. He needed to take this seriously, but that didn’t mean that he had to like it. He just hoped that he could get through this without screwing up.

  
The second concern that had kept him up at night had been just what to do to her? As far as physical punishments went, as far as actually causing pain, he was severely limited in what he could actually do. Well… honestly he’d checked and the Room of Requirement had been able to produce a large number of items that he _could_ use, but that brought him back to the thought that any number of things could go very wrong with some of those items, or the ideas for punishment that accompanied them. He could honestly do serious damage if he made a mistake, and that was the last thing that he wanted.

  
After much consideration, he’d settled on something that would be a mixture of psychological and physical. With what he knew of Hermione, he was reasonably certain that his plan should be effective, though he realized he’d need to get past the distraction of being in the same room as his very naked girlfriend in order to properly pull this off.

  
 _She’s your sub right now_ , he reminded himself. _Not your girlfriend._

  
A glance at his watch told him that enough time had passed so he turned, pulled open the door and stepped through before he could start to second-guess himself. Letting the door swing shut quietly behind him, he made certain that it was fully closed and noted movement out of the corner of his eye. It looked like she was sitting up straight, as if she hadn’t properly been in her pose when he entered the room. He didn’t react. Instead he took off his robes and moved across the room to drape them over the arm of the sofa before he loosened his tie and unbuttoned his uniform shirt sleeves, rolling them back to his elbows.

  
He took his time, never once actually looking at Hermione where she was kneeling in front of his chair, well aware that the wait would drive her crazy. Eventually he made his way over and sat, finally looking at her directly. Her head was down, eyes directed at the floor between them and her long hair had fallen forward over her shoulders, mostly obscuring her breasts behind a curtain of brown curls.

  
“Look at me, Mine,” he ordered as calmly as he could, and she slowly lifted her head to meet his gaze.

  
“You weren’t properly in your pose when I came into the room, where you?”

  
Hermione hesitated for a moment, “No, Sir. I wasn’t,” she whispered, shaking her head slightly.

  
“Why?”

  
“I… I was thinking and got distracted. I realized I wasn’t holding my position just before I heard the door shut.”

  
He considered that for a moment before he nodded and moved over, dropping to one knee in front of her. Reaching out he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, holding her gaze the entire time.

  
“I’m disappointed you haven’t put that same effort into this that you put into all your other studies. I’m certain you’d be perfect in no time if you did,” he murmured. “You will have to work on that, and I will help you, but just know I expect you to do better and we don’t need to give it any more thought than that. Understood?”

  
She nodded, her face clearly showing that she was upset but he didn’t think it was with him. If anything she would be upset with herself.

  
“I asked you a question, Mine.”

  
“Y-yes, Sir.”

  
He leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead for a moment before he straightened up again.

  
“Now _this_?” he indicated her hair. “This is my fault. I wasn’t very specific with my orders.” His hands shook, just slightly as he carefully pulled her hair back, letting it fall in waves nearly to the middle of her back until nothing was left to block his view of her. “Let’s say, in the future, that you tie your hair back somehow before I arrive as well. As much as I love your hair, I would rather not have it blocking me being able to see you.” He took great care as he worked that he didn’t touch her skin directly, only moving her hair until he was satisfied with his work and returned to his seat.

  
For a few moments he held her gaze before he let his eyes, very deliberately, wander over her exposed body. The bright flush in her cheeks extended down her neck, broken only by the brilliant green of the ribbon wrapped around her slim throat, and across her upper chest but didn’t quite reach the slopes of her breasts. He was slightly surprised to discover that her nipples and the surrounding areolae were a darker color than he’d expected, a light brown against the creamy skin of her breasts. Her stomach was trim, but not toned, likely from hiking the stairs everyday with all of those heavy books. The lines of her body and the angle of her spread knees drew his eyes further down to find a sparse dusting of wispy curls just above her wet and swollen entrance.

  
He took his time examining her, committing every detail he could to memory, before letting his eyes finally return to meet hers. He could see worry in her gaze, an anxious nervousness that he hated seeing in her.

  
“I don’t ever want to hear you say that you aren’t pretty ever again, Mine,” he said after clearing his throat so that he would be capable of speaking clearly. “Sure, there are more beautiful women in the world, just like there are guys that are better looking than me. I think you are absolutely gorgeous, and I won’t have you putting yourself down anymore.”

  
Her flush only deepened further and her posture straightened just a little more, the worry in her eyes vanishing as a bright smile spread across her lips.

  
“Thank you, Sir,” she said. For a moment she looked as if she were going to say something else but then her mouth clicked shut.

  
“What were you going to say?” he asked and she ducked her head slightly without thinking.

  
She shifted slightly for a moment but then quickly stilled. “I… I was wondering if y-you had anything you wanted me to change, Sir,” she admitted. He cocked his head slightly to the side in confusion.

  
“How do you mean?” he asked, after considering the question for a moment.

  
“I mean my body, Sir. Or… or my hair?”

  
Now he was even more confused and the frown on his face clearly indicated that. Staring into her eyes, he said, “I already said I love your hair, Mine. You don’t need to change it at all.”

  
The red in her cheeks had been growing steadily darker as they talked, and she took a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “I meant… I meant down _there_ , Sir,” she whispered her eyes flicking downward for a moment and instinctively his eyes followed the direction of her gaze.

  
A moment later realization clicked and he straightened up, eyes widening in surprise before he was able to smooth out his expression.

  
“Down where?” he asked, his lips twisting into a small smirk. Her breath was coming a little faster, he noted, and the muscles in her stomach and legs tightened and relaxed as she fought not to shift about in her pose.

  
“A-above my vagina, Sir,” she squeaked out, causing his smirk to turn into a grin.

  
“And that leads me to something else I had planned to bring up in the near future, but since you mention it, I think we’ll do it now.” He settled back in his chair, crossing his right leg at the ankle over his left knee, letting his hands rest casually in his lap, as he felt himself sinking into the headspace he’d worked at cultivating. Here he controlled her. Here he didn’t have the same nerves that had been plaguing him since he first looked at her. Before, he was looking at his girlfriend, and he was smitten, in awe that such a girl, such a _woman_ , would find him worthy of her. Now he was looking at his sub, his property, and it was his _right_ to look at her; to command her as he wanted.

  
“You said before that you wanted this partly so you could stop being you for a time. So you could be someone else, some _thing_ else, and leave all the worries you have to me. Isn’t that right, Mine?” he asked in a conversational tone.

  
“Yes, Sir, I did,” she responded.

  
“In your day-to-day life you’re not a prude, but you are rather prim and proper. If you want to be something, or someone, different in _here_ ,” he said, dropping his right leg back to the ground so he could lean forward and gently tap the center of her forehead with one finger, “then you need to act differently. So why don’t you try that again, without the proper terminology? You used a different word before, when you were begging me to touch you. What was it?”

  
“Oh Merlin,” she moaned quietly, and she lowered her head, directing her eyes at the floor again.

  
“I told you to look at me, Mine.” Her head snapped up again at his sharp command. “You don’t hide from me. Do you understand?”

  
“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir,” she rushed out pleadingly, to which he offered her an encouraging smile.

  
“Answer me, Mine,” he told her a moment later. “What hair were you referring to?”

  
A small whimper escaped her for a moment before her mouth opened and she said, “the hair on my… my c-cunt, Sir. I was wondering if you wanted me t-to do anything about it?”

  
Now that the question had been asked, Harry realized he didn’t exactly have an answer. He’d honestly never really considered it before. Aside from the pictures in their books, she was the first naked woman Harry had ever seen, and he’d not yet formed an opinion on the matter.

  
“To be perfectly honest, I don’t exactly know,” he admitted as he mulled over the question. “For now, leave it. I’ll decide later if I’d like for you to do anything else.”

  
“I understand, Sir.”

  
“Now, we need to get on to the reason we’re here, don’t we, Mine?”

  
When she answered, he could barely hear the meek murmur that escaped her.

  
“Mine, you need to speak up so that I can hear you,” he admonished her lightly.

  
“Yes, Sir,” she repeated in a stronger voice, her eyes holding his gaze, but he could see she was fighting not to look away. “Can… can I ask a question, Sir?”

  
“Of course, Mine. But we really do need to hurry so I hope its it's a short question.”

  
She nodded. “I was just wondering… yesterday you said the Room limits things but… from what you've said about it it actually gives us more options. What did you mean?”

  
Harry blinked in surprise, falling right out of the Headspace he was in while he tried to remember what she was talking about. “Was that when we were reading in the Common Room?” he asked, frowning in thought and she nodded.

  
“Yes, Sir. You said you were thinking about how the Room limits things, a little.”

  
“Oh! No, I didn’t mean ‘the Room’ as in this Room and what it can change to. I mean us keeping things to _in_ the room.” He stopped and took a moment to gather his thoughts, before he looked back at her. “I was just thinking a lot about this dynamic, and what we’re both supposed to be doing. You’re supposed to be learning, and I’m supposed to be teaching you. But neither of us really knows what we want yet. As with your punishment, which we still need to get to. Whatever punishments you earn, they have to be something limited to the time that we’re here, and some are meant to last longer, or should at least.” He shrugged.

  
“I was just trying to figure out what the best thing to do was, and I was having some difficulty deciding on something I thought would fit, but we’ll talk about this more as we go along. For right now we need to get to this discussion so we can move on. Stand up, Mine.”

#####

Hermione carefully got to her feet, wincing slightly as her knees protested the action and she shook out a bit of numbness in her legs as quickly as she could. She could feel that her face was still burning and she had to fight the instinctive urge to cover herself with her hands. She had been the one to say it before, if anyone deserved to look at her, it was her Sir. Being perfectly honest with herself, she could admit in the privacy of her own head, that she really liked the appreciative way he looked at her body.

  
She’d always thought that she would hate catching someone ogling her like a thing, instead of a person with her own mind and will, but she absolutely loved feeling his eyes on her, and seeing the obvious signs of what that view did to him.

  
“Did you bring the contract we wrote?” he asked.

  
She jumped, slightly startled by the sudden question but her answer was immediate. “Yes, Sir. It’s in my bookbag.”

  
“Get it, and put it on the table, Mine,” he ordered and she moved to obey.

  
Digging through her bag, she quickly located the roll and swiftly brought it over to lay it out upon the table. Sir came up beside her, setting a blank roll as well as a self-inking quill down next to their previous contract, before he went back to his chair which he had turned so that it was facing the table.

  
“So, we’re going to discuss the rules we have, and decide ways to improve them, Mine,” he told her as he sat and made himself comfortable. “You’re going to write it out as we decide, do you understand?”

  
“Yes, Sir,” she said. After a quick look around however, she frowned.

  
“What’s wrong?” he asked, a knowing smirk spreading across his lips again.

  
“I… I was looking for a chair, Sir,” she admitted.

  
“That’s fine, you’re not going to need one. First, copy out the individual sections and then we’ll go over everything.” He waved one hand toward the table, indicating that she should get to work, she frowned slightly but complied.

  
Very quickly, she realized that this was going to be an awkward endeavor at best. The table was too low for her to be able to comfortably write while standing, but it was too high for her to kneel. In the end it took less than a minute for her to realize his plan and she couldn’t help another fierce blush that swept through her. The best way for her to be able to do this would be to bend over and rest her forearms on the table, but with him sitting behind her…

  
_Oh my God! He’ll have a clear view of my…_

  
The thought popped into her head, completely unbidden but once it was there she couldn’t banish it.

  
“Is something wrong, Mine?” he asked from behind her and she could clearly hear a bit of amusement in his voice.

  
“No, Sir,” she said. “Absolutely nothing.”

  
With that, she pushed all thoughts of what he was going to see from her mind and simply bent to her task, literally. For the next hour she wrote as carefully as she could, trying to ignore the thought that he could easily be staring at her sex and anus each time she bent over the table, especially as she’d had to spread her legs somewhat to relieve the tension in her back while she worked. _Pussy or cunt and arsehole,_ she reminded herself. _Change how you think._

  
When she wasn't actively writing, she stood and turned to face Sir as they discussed the changes both of them felt needed to be included, then she would turn back to write down the new rules. She made sure to include his rule about her not letting herself get too stressed and tired before requesting time with him. They added a section more clearly defining the types of punishments possible for different infractions she might make, removing the ambiguity that had existed before.

  
Finally, she found herself back in her pose between him and the fire, while they let the ink dry on the contract. The apprehension and nervousness she’d felt over the last two days seemed like nothing compared to what she now experienced, as it hit home that she was minutes away from her promised punishment. Sir’s demeanor had shifted as well. For much of the time, he’d seemed vaguely amused, with moments where he’d become sharp and serious, such as when she’d lowered her eyes after he had ordered her to look at him.

  
Now he seemed incredibly serious. His face was nearly expressionless, save a slight ticking of a muscle in his jaw and a tightening around his eyes that she was barely able to detect. He held himself strangely still in his chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs, chin resting on his hands as he studied her for several long minutes. A shiver ran through her body at the look in his eyes. This wasn’t like the appreciative looks he’d given her before. He wasn’t admiring her body. He appeared to be deciding how to tackle a particularly stubborn problem that he needed to eliminate.

  
“How did you do on your homework assignment, Mine?” he finally asked and she fought not to wince.

  
“Not as well as I would have liked, Sir,” she admitted.

  
“Oh? What was the trouble?”

  
“You… you indicated there were three things that I did wrong,” she said, he nodded. “I could only think of two specifically. Each, possibly more than one time, but only two distinct things stood out in my mind.”

  
“What were they?”

  
“First, I… I tried to bring something into the dynamic that happened not only outside it, but before we’d even started it. I understand that I shouldn’t have done that. Second, I argued and spoke out of turn when you told me ‘no’.”

  
“And do you think that’s all you did? That I’m wrong to think you did three things specifically, or do you believe you just haven’t thought of it?”

  
She frowned at that, carefully considering her answer before she spoke. “I don’t know,” she said after a time. “Both are possible and I’m not certain which is more likely.”

  
He was silent for a minute before a small smile curved his lips. “I’m proud of you, Mine,” he said and she jerked slightly, surprised by that reaction.

  
“Sir?” she asked.

  
“You admitted that you weren’t sure about something. You could easily have decided that I was wrong, but you didn’t go with the easy solution. I’m proud of you.”

  
She flushed again, a warm feeling of pride blooming in her chest, and her posture straightened even further as she unconsciously drew herself up as that sensation filled her.

  
“The third thing that I believe you did wrong,” he then said, causing some of that feeling to dissipate, “is that you were trying to control our session. When I told you ‘no’, that should have been the end of it. But you pushed. You demanded something from me, and that was not your place. If you want to renegotiate our contract again, giving you more control we can consider that,” he said, gesturing to the contract on the table. “Is that what you want, Mine? Do you want to be in control rather than be controlled?”

  
“NO!” she blurted out, then shrank back slightly when she realized how loud she’d been. “No, Sir. That’s not what I want at all. That’s not what I _need_. I don’t know why I did that... I was… I was just so upset… I thought it could help me and I didn’t think it through.”

  
“Then you agree that is the third mistake that you made? You tried to take control from your Sir?”

  
She thought it over carefully again, a heavy sense of shame falling over her as she realized he was right, that was exactly what she’d done, and the fact that she really hadn’t meant to didn’t mean anything.

  
“Yes, Sir,” she finally whispered, her eyes on the floor again. “I agree. I deserve to be punished for that.”

  
“And what have you done wrong so far today?”

  
“I didn’t keep my pose while I was waiting for you. I looked away after you ordered me to look at you. And I hesitated when it came to writing out our contract,” she said almost immediately. “I also raised my voice but I’m not certain if that would be doing something wrong.”

  
“Why wouldn’t it be?”

  
“I… I wasn’t raising my voice _at_ you, Sir. It was a reaction to what you said, and I was simply expressing that I disagreed, I don’t want _more_ control. I… I want less, Sir.” An idea started to form in her mind as she turned over the last words she’d said. Did she really mean that? Less control? Less how? Less than letting him do anything he wanted to her with only a safe word for her to stop it?

  
“I agree.” His voice brought her out of her thoughts and she tucked the idea away to consider later, returning her full focus to him. “That last bit, raising your voice was not something you did wrong. Also we already discussed your not holding your pose and that was the end of it. Disobeying an order by looking away and your hesitation. Yes, those are both mistakes you made today, but relatively easy to fix. Consider this your reprimand for those, though if they are repeated then we’ll have to look at a proper punishment for not learning.”

  
“Thank you, Sir.”

  
“Now, as to the three things you did wrong on Sunday… would you like to know what I’ve decided for your punishment, Mine?”

  
No. No she would not _like_ to know, but she knew she that _needed_ to know so she slowly nodded her head and let out a quiet, “yes, Sir.”

  
“I considered a lot of different ways that I could punish you,” he admitted, sitting back in his chair again, his eyes fixed steadily on hers. “Many of the possible physical punishments I could use… well I wouldn’t want to attempt them without some way to practice first. It would be too easy to really hurt you without meaning to. A simple slip and we’d be visiting Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing.”

  
He chuckled a moment later at the horrified expression that stole over her face.

  
“Yeah, I figured we would want to avoid that. So I finally settled on something simple, fairly standard, really.” With both hands he gestured to the chair that he was sitting in, a simple, cushioned item with no arms. “You are going to lay across my lap, and you’re going to get a spanking, Mine. Ten strikes for each violation. You are going to count each one out loud. If you stop counting at any time we start over. Do you have any questions?”

  
Hermione’s mouth dropped open in surprise when she heard the word ‘spanking’ leave his lips. _A spanking?_ she thought. _I’ve never been spanked before. Not even my parents ever gave me a spanking!_

Honestly, she wasn’t certain whether or not she was insulted that he was treating her like an… an unruly child! Or if she was mortified that he was treating her like a child! Laying across his lap… it was humiliating! It was insulting! It was…. It was exactly what he was going for, she realized. The physical pain likely wouldn’t be too terrible, but the psychological effect would have a far more lasting impact, and making her count out each strike, making her an active participant in her own punishment…

  
“Mine, I asked you a question,” he said in a harder tone of voice and she blinked, realizing she’d spent far too long thinking and had, once again, hesitated to respond to him.

  
“I’m sorry, Sir,” she apologized. “I was trying to think over everything. Do I have any questions?” she asked for clarification and when he nodded she considered it quickly. “Will this be… how will you be… what will be hitting me, Sir?” She stumbled over the question but finally managed to get it out. The smirk that turned his lips at that did little to reassure her in any way.

  
“Well… when I requested this room, it actually provided me with a tool,” he said. Summoning the chest from beside the sofa with a wave of his hand, he pulled a beautiful cherry wood paddle that had the words ‘Ms. B. Havior’ carved into it from the lower drawer. “I considered it, but decided that really for the first time here it would be better to keep things more personal, so I’ll be using my hand to redden your beautiful arse, Mine.”

  
A small whimper escaped her when he put the paddle away and returned the chest to its’ previous place. She honestly couldn’t have said whether it was a sound of dismay or desire. Her head and her body were completely at odds with each other. Her head was telling her this was going to hurt. This was not going to be fun in any way at all, and she was so embarrassed and humiliated to be in this position to begin with. She was ashamed of herself for messing up so spectacularly, breaking one of the most important rules she’d insisted on when writing their original contract.

  
But her body absolutely hummed at the very thought of what was coming. maybe not the pain she was going to experience, but something about the way he was treating her simply filled her with desire and anticipation. Several times he’d been pleased with her, and she felt so elated to have done something to please him. She felt as if she were losing herself. Hermione Granger was fading away, Mine was supplanting her and she had no idea when that had started, how to stop it, or even if she wanted to. She could literally feel a drop of her excitement dripping down her skin to wet the floor under her.

  
“Do you have any other questions, Mine?” he asked and she shook her head. Leaning forward again, all trace of his amusement gone as he stared intently at her. “Do you agree to this punishment? You don’t feel this is going to be too much for you?”

  
Her answer was immediate and without any hesitation. “No, Sir. I don’t think it’s too much at all, and I agree completely. I earned this, Sir, and if this is how you wish to punish me....” She trailed off but her meaning was clear, and after a moment he nodded and sat back again, patting his thigh with one hand.

  
“Come here then, Mine.”

  
She almost leapt to her feet, moving over to him quickly, determined to accept her punishment, and show Sir just how much she wanted this. Carefully, he helped her to lie across his lap; as she did so a low footstool appeared on his left side, placed so that she could rest her arms on it to support herself.

She almost let out a quiet groan when she felt the hard length of his erection against her hip, but her attention was quickly drawn away when she felt her hair being moved. There was a light tugging sensation against her throat and she realized he was untying the ribbon from around her neck. Moments later her hair was gathered and tied into a low ponytail, letting it all fall over her right shoulder, baring her back to him, yet keeping her hair from falling into her face.

  
“Mine?” he asked.

  
“Sir?”

  
“I need you to tell me your safeword.”

  
Startled she looked back over her shoulder at him.

  
“I mean it. I understand this is fairly simple, but I just want to be sure you remember, just in case.”

  
Quietly, she muttered the safeword they’d agreed to and he gave her a nod. “Good girl,” he said, smiling gently and she turned back to face forward.

  
A moment later his left hand rested gently on her back between her shoulder blades as his right hand came down to cup her arse; she was momentarily startled to realize that was the first time he’d actually touched her since coming into the room. A shudder ran through her body, and she tried to force herself to relax but her muscles kept wanting to tense in anticipation of the first strike

  
“Don’t forget to count, Mine,” he whispered into her ear.

  
“Yes, Si- AAAHHH!”

  
She hadn’t finished speaking when she felt the muscles in his body shift and a startlingly loud crack echoed through the air; a sharp pain burst across her right cheek. Her entire body jerked in a mixture of pain and surprise. She would have fallen off of his lap and onto the floor if he hadn't still had one hand on her back, holding her in place.

  
_Holy shit, that actually hurt!_

  
“O-one, Sir!” she cried out.

  
Another crack, seemingly louder than the first, rang out and her left cheek was suddenly on fire.

  
“Aahh! Two, S-sir!”

  
He put several seconds between each strike and for the first few, he didn’t hit the same place twice, shifting where they landed across her arse, even moving lower to just above where the curve of her cheeks met the back of her thighs. Those first few strikes definitely stung like a bitch, but eventually he started hitting flesh that had already been struck and the pain became considerably worse.

  
“T-t-twenty… S-Sir,” she sobbed out. She realized tears had started to fall somewhere around strike number ten, she couldn’t stop them. Not great gasping sobs, but she was certainly crying and, almost against her will her body tensed again, waiting for the next strike to land. After several seconds passed and it didn’t, she blinked several times. A gentle touch brushed across her heated skin and she flinched for a moment before she realized that Sir was very gently rubbing her arse as if attempting to soothe the pain.

  
 _No_ , she groaned mentally. _He can’t be stopping._

  
“I’m not certain we need to continue this,” she heard him say.

  
She squashed down hard on her initial reaction to demand that he not stop. She would not behave in the same manner that was part of her punishment to begin with. But… how to get him to understand that she was okay to continue? That it was okay, period.

 

#####

 

Harry was at war with himself. He kept swinging, almost violently back and forth, in and out of the headspace he needed to see this all through. Having the table at a height where her best solution to write on it was to bend over had been an intentional attempt to distract her from what was coming. He’d given her two days to stew, to drive herself crazy, to torture herself with the thoughts of what could be coming, and he’d felt that a reprieve was needed. Of course, he hadn’t accounted for the fact that he’d be torturing _himself_ just as much, watching the way her body bent and moved, the way her breasts swayed as she shifted, the view he had of the full swollen folds between her legs glistening in the light of the lanterns, and the tantalizing glimpse of that puckered opening above.

  
By the time he had her draped across his lap, he was holding onto that headspace with an iron grip, determined to see this through. He’d thought he understood. He’d thought he had it figured out, the purpose of a punishment. When the tears started, he lost any grip he might have had on the proper headspace, and every following strike left him feeling disgusted with himself, until by the twentieth strike he just didn't think he could continue.

  
Hermione suddenly looked back at him over her shoulder, tears staining her cheeks. "Please Sir... can I have some more?"

  
There was a desperation in her voice that was completely at odds with the tears he could see streaming down her face, "I'm not sure I can do this..."

  
"Sir?” The word escaped her in a pleading tone, less a question and more a frantic request.

  
He shook his head. "It's… this is wrong... isn't it?" he muttered.

  
Hermione was silent for a moment beyond a few sobbing hiccups that escaped her before she finally addressed his question. "Can I stop it at any time, Sir? If I wanted to, I can stop this, right?"

  
He blinked, startled by the simple question. "Well... uh..."

  
"You made certain I remembered my safeword, Sir. If I said it... would you stop?"

  
"Yes, of course I would… but..."

  
"Have I said the safeword?"

  
"No. No you haven’t but… but... you're my girlfriend… this just doesn’t feel right."

  
"Sir... Harry... I'm both your sub and your girlfriend... I want this. I promise you, _please_.”

  
_I’m both your sub and your girlfriend._

  
What did that mean? Harry wondered, confused that, despite how upset she appeared, how much this was hurting her, she wanted him to continue. He studied her face carefully, finally seeing something that resonated somewhere deep within him, something he was really only just beginning to understand. She didn’t _want_ this, she _needed_ it. It was clear in her eyes, in her pleading expression, and her statement only reminded him of what he was thinking outside in the hall when he was waiting for Hermione to ready herself. A part of his role as her Dom was seeing to her needs, and this was something she obviously needed. Just because he didn’t understand it, didn’t change that fact. He only hoped she would be able to explain it to him later.

  
The headspace he’d lost, found him again. Not as fully as he’d experienced before, the mindset necessary for the dynamic they were in, but he reminded himself that there really was very little that he _wouldn’t_ do for his Hermione. He took a deep breath, letting it slowly out as his expression smoothed into calm confidence.

  
“Mine?” he asked.

  
“Sir?” confusion clouded her eyes for a moment, but he could see it written plainly there as her own headspace was fully established, the confusion cleared and she was ready for him to continue as her Sir.

  
“Did I just hear you use my name a moment ago?”

  
Tear filled eyes widened for a moment before she ducked her head, letting out a quiet, “Yes, Sir.”

  
He kept one hand on her back between her shoulder blades, the other never ceasing gently caressing the heated skin of her arse as he considered the options available to him for a moment. Reach out he pulled a lock of her hair that’d come loose from the ribbon and tucked it behind her ear, holding her gaze the entire time.

  
“Eyes front, Mine. You still have ten to go. Don’t forget to keep count.”

  
Hermione’s head snapped forward and she lowered her forehead to her arms where they were crossed on the footstool in front of her. “Yes, Sir… Sir?”

  
“What is it, Mine?”

  
“Am I… am I starting my count back at one, or do I just continue where we left off?”

  
“Where we left off,” he told her after a moment’s thought.

  
Placing his hand on her back again, he lifted his other hand and felt her body suddenly tense an instant before his hand met her flesh loudly.

  
She let out a strangled sounding cry, and her body shook slightly before she stammered out, “T-twenty-one, S-sir.”

  
He frowned, something about her reaction tickling the back of his mind as he swung again, aiming for her left cheek. That time she released a strained grunt and quietly muttered, “Twenty-two, S-Sir.”

  
 _That_ he recognized from personal experience and he immediately placed his stinging hand on her lower back.

  
“Mine,” he said sternly. “Don’t hold back if you want to cry or yell. I won’t have you hiding anything from me, especially how you’re feeling. Do you understand?”

  
“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.”

  
“Don’t be sorry, just don’t do it again.”

  
Before she could respond, he pulled back and swung again; that time when the loud crack of his palm striking her cheek echoed around the room, her head came up and she practically screamed, “Twenty-three, Sir!”

  
Her body shook as she let the tears fall, and by the time he finished the last stroke she was sobbing openly. He gathered her carefully into his arms until he was cradling her in his lap, then stood, grateful that she didn’t weigh more, and carried her over to the sofa; sitting against the left side and the corner, in the crevice between the back and the arm, as her body curled into him, her arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders.

  
With the moment over, Harry felt the same guilt come rushing back as she sobbed against his chest, but he simply held her as gently as he could, running one hand soothingly up and down her back. It took a few minutes before he realized that, between sobs, she was saying something, the words muffled against his chest, and he tilted his head slightly to try and hear her better.

  
“... thank you, Sir… thank you…”

 

#####

 

She really wasn’t sure how long she sat there, curled up safe and secure in his arms. Eventually though, her tears subsided and the unending litany of gratitude that poured from her mouth finally stopped and she was able to pull herself together. With her arms still wrapped around his shoulders she lifted her head and pressed her tearstained face against his neck.

  
“Thank you, Sir,” she whispered again, kissing his neck several times. “Thank you, so much.” _Gods, this man_ , she thought. She was well aware how difficult punishing her must have been for him, but he did it, and for that, for everything he’d _been_ doing... she didn’t know how she would ever be able to repay him.

  
“I don’t understand.”

  
She froze at the note of disgust in his voice.

  
“I don’t… how can you _thank_ me for hurting you.”

  
Hermione sat up slightly, lifting her head so she could look him in the eyes. “You did _not_ hurt me, Sir,” she said, her voice earnest and sincere.

  
His only response was to arch a brow at her doubtfully as he lifted one hand to wipe a few tears from her cheek with his thumb. She winced slightly as the pressure stung her skin.

  
“Okay,” she admitted, “… yes, you hurt me. That hurt. My arse is still burning. But I think... you’re still confusing what this is with what you experienced, Sir.”

  
“You told me. Choice. But that still doesn’t make any sense to me and… I’m having some trouble with this,” he muttered.

  
Hermione let out a long sigh, her brow furrowed as she struggled to organize her thoughts. Her mind felt… sluggish… focus was hard to come by; Somewhere in a far corner of her brain she realized that she was struggling with coming out of the headspace of her sub headspace to focus her attention on this serious discussion so soon after that fairly intense experience. Intense for her, at least. She was reasonably sure that, if Harry could continue with her, she would one day look back on this and wonder over the fact that she had once found a simple spanking to be such an experience.

  
“Sir?” she whispered, laying her head back down on his shoulder as she clung tighter to him, holding onto him like a lifeline.

  
“What is it?”

  
“We need to… talk... about all this… but… can you be patient with me, please? I’m… focusing is hard right now, so I might need a little time.”

  
“Of course. I’m sorry-”

  
“No sorry,” she murmured, cutting off his apology.

“You don’t need to be sorry. You did exactly what I wanted you to do, Sir. What I needed from you.” She took a deep breath, the scent of his skin filling her nose then let it out in a long slow breath as her body relaxed against him, her muscles going slack.

  
“Talk to me?” she whispered.

  
“What about?”

  
“Tell me… tell me what’s bothering you? Let me hear it and I’ll try to help. We have to talk to each other… remember, Sir?”

  
She felt his body move against her, his chest expanding as he pulled in a deep breath.

  
“I… I just don’t get how this is supposed to help. I… how is hurting you not going to end in anything but you resenting me? How is it not… why is what I just did not abuse?”

  
She could hear the pain in his voice and mentally cursed herself. She knew this would be difficult for him, but she hadn’t completely understood just _how_ hard it would be. She hadn’t completely connected that it would hurt him just as much, if not more than it hurt her. Her pain was cleansing, while his was… it was just pain. Pain without purpose or direction. How… how could she make it clear to him?

  
“Have you… have you ever done something wrong and felt bad about it?” she murmured against his neck.

  
“Yeah, of course I have. I never really meant to but I still felt bad about it.”

  
“And wouldn’t you… do you think you would have felt better if you could have made up for it… somehow?”

  
He seemed to consider that, falling silent for a time before she felt him shrug the shoulder she wasn’t lying against. “I guess, yeah,” he finally admitted and she smiled.

  
“That’s what you just did for me, Sir. I… earlier, when we laid out the mistakes I made before, especially my trying to take control from you… I felt… I have never felt so ashamed of myself. I… I didn’t mean to do that, I wasn’t trying to do that, but I still did it. Now… I feel lighter than I think I ever have. I feel… I feel like a weight has been lifted off of me. For the last couple of days I’ve been carrying around this load. Guilt and shame and… it’s all gone now, I feel so much better for it.”

  
She lifted her head again and looked into those intense green eyes that she loved so much, sorrow filling her at seeing the pain and confusion that was so clearly expressed in them. “You let me make up for my mistake. The pain will fade, but I’ll always remember this. This is a lesson for me, to learn that my mistakes have consequences. I don’t resent you at all, Sir, and I can’t remember the last time I felt so clean and free. That’s what you did for me. You didn’t hurt me, Sir. You freed me from the guilt and the shame that was weighing me down. And taught me that I need to avoid making those mistakes in the future.”

  
He didn't seem entirely convinced, but she was on a roll, her thoughts moving forward and she just let them out in a stream as they occurred to her.

  
“What makes this different, Sir, is that I know you care for me. You've done this to me, seen me like this… in a way no one else ever has and you still feel that way.” Her hand came up to stroke his cheek.   
“It's obvious to me how much you care, because of how much this is affecting you. And I still feel the same way about you, even more now because I have at least an idea of how hard that was for you. Our friendship has always been unusually close, and I feel closer to you now than ever. I can't imagine something being as intimate as what just happened between, not even sex.

  
“No matter who we grow into, no matter where our relationship goes... what we just shared is something that can't be duplicated with anyone else. I can't ever have that same kind of bond and intimacy with someone else, even if we don't work out and we end up meeting other people… in that case, there _might_ be others I ask to punish me, but no one else would ever be the same.”

  
Harry's expression morphed into a scowl when she mentioned the possibility of their relationship not working out and at the idea of someone else punishing her, his arms tightened possessively around her.

  
“I'm not saying that _will_ happen,” she assured him, quickly leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Right now, I can't imagine being this close to, or trusting, anyone this much but you. But we are pretty young. We don't know what the future will be.

  
“The parts of your soul and mine that this experience exposed lets us know each other, and ourselves, in a way that nothing else can, and that's what lets us both truly forgive. I can forgive myself because of the parts of me that got laid bare emotionally through this experience... and now, hopefully you can forgive yourself by those parts I'm sharing with you right now.”

  
She finally stopped talking, suddenly worried that she might have rambled too much by the blank expression on his face. Had she confused him, or worse upset him, by saying they might not last? Did he think she might not want to be with him?

  
Eventually he pulled her closer to him and kissed her, a kiss that she returned wholeheartedly, trying to show him just how she felt through that simple yet intimate contact.

  
“I think,” he murmured after they separated. “I think I actually understand now. I feel a little better about the whole thing at least. I honestly think that was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done, Mine. I don’t want to have to do that very often… but I… I don’t think it will be nearly as difficult in the future if I have to.”

  
She beamed at him and kissed him again, a much more intense sort of kiss than the few they’d so recently shared, before she pulled back, secretly enjoying the slightly dazed look on his face, and rested her head on his shoulder again, shifting to a more comfortable position in his lap.

  
“What else do we still need to talk about?” she asked from his shoulder as she closed her eyes and just let herself relax, basking in the comfort she always felt with him.

  
“I’m not entirely certain, really,” he muttered after taking a minute to think, humming quietly to himself all the while. “Why don’t we… what if we break down everything that happened today? See how we each feel about it?”

  
“How do you mean?”

  
“Well, everything I had you do today. How did you feel? Did anything make you uncomfortable at all, or did you think you particularly liked something?”

  
She could feel her face warming, nearly to match the heat in her other cheeks, and was rather glad that she was already resting her head so she didn’t come up against his order not to hide from him. The urge to hide her face against his chest was bad enough as it was.

  
“I don’t think there was anything I didn’t enjoy in some way,” she muttered, embarrassed to admit it aloud. “Having to bend over to write our contract… Merlin, that was so embarrassing, but exciting at the same time.”

  
His body shook under her and it took her a moment to realize that he was laughing.

  
“I’ve noticed that,” he admitted. “I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with you, and I’ve noticed the more embarrassing something is, the more excited you seem to get.”

  
“How can you tell I’m excited? It’s not like it’s incredibly obvious like with you boys.”

  
“You move.”

  
She lifted her head at that, utterly confused by his response. “I _move_?” she asked incredulously, to which he laughed louder.

  
“Yes, you move,” he said, a broad smile on his face.

“When I had you write out your fantasies? The longer it went on, the more you shifted around in your seat. I’ve noticed when you’re turned on, you seem to have trouble sitting still.”

  
Her face suddenly got even hotter and she had to fight the urge to look down, away from those bright green eyes of his.

  
“Oh,” she said in a small, surprised voice.

  
“I think it’s only because I know you so well that I figured out what it meant honestly,” he continued.

  
“You certainly do seem to like making me blush,” she pointed out teasingly, and he shrugged.

  
“What can I say? You look so beautiful with that red in your cheeks,” he told her, lifting one hand to touch her cheek before letting his fingers trail down her skin, over her throat and across her upper chest where her skin was slowly turning a brighter red. “I didn’t realize just how _far_ that blush of yours extended under your clothes though,” he murmured. “That’s certainly a fun discovery.”

  
Hermione bit her lower lip as a shiver ran through her body at his gentle touch. A moment later she noticed his eyes weren’t on her face anymore, instead he appeared to be looking at her hair, when both of his hands came up and reached around her head.

  
“Let’s fix this,” he muttered and she felt a light tugging at her hair as he untied the ribbon and pulled it loose. Immediately she turned in his lap and presented her back to him, lifting both hands to gather up her hair and hold it out of the way, so he could easily tie the ribbon back around her throat.   
When he wrapped it around her neck and started to tie it, she shivered again at the pressure against her throat.

  
“How’s that?” he asked.

  
“It can be tighter, Sir,” she whispered, her heart racing as he slowly increased the pressure. “Right there, that’s… that's perfect, Sir,” she said when it was just a bit tighter than she had had it before.

  
She leaned back against him as his arms came around her middle, both of his hands resting on her bare stomach. Her eyes slid closed and she sighed again.

  
“I love how that feels,” she admitted, letting the fingers of one hand brush against the soft silk around her neck. “I don't know why it's just…” She trailed off and felt more than heard him hum something as his chest rumbled against her back.

  
“What about your punishment?” he asked suddenly, and her eyes opened, staring at the wall across from them for a moment.

  
“How do you mean?”

  
She felt his body shift as he shrugged behind her. “Well… I tried to find something that would be a mix of physical and mental. How did you feel about it? Have you learned anything about yourself because of it?”

  
She had to think about that for a while, comparing her thoughts just before it to how she’d felt during. As she’d thought when he’d first said what her punishment was going to be, it had been humiliating, laying sprawled across his lap that way. They way he’d held her in place during and the actual pain of it…

  
“I think… honestly I think I actually enjoyed some aspects of it,” she admitted slowly. “It was humiliating, like you were treating me like a child that had misbehaved or something. I don’t know… it... it was exciting for some reason, and then I felt ashamed that I was getting excited by it, which just made it more arousing. The way you held me in place, and the pain itself…” She let her eyes fall closed again, blocking out the room around them to just focus on her thoughts, and what she’d felt. “I’m not entirely certain how to describe it,” she finally let out, frustrated that she couldn’t seem to articulate her feelings.

  
He hummed again, a noncommittal sort of sound, and his arms tightened slightly around her, pulling her up a bit so her body fit closer against his.

  
“Hey, what’d you mean earlier?” he asked and she tilted her head back against his shoulder in an attempt to look up at him.

  
“What’d I mean what earlier, Sir?” she asked, a small smile playing around her lips. “We’ve said a lot since we came in here.”

  
“Okay, point to you on that,” he chuckled. “I mean when you said you wanted less control. What’d you mean?”

  
She blinked several times, her mind flashing back to that part of the discussion. She’d almost forgotten it in the haze of her punishment, and the near terror she’d felt at that time when he’d suggested renegotiating their agreement again to give more control to her, she couldn’t stop a shudder that ran through her at the memory, one of discomfort as opposed to the frequent pleasured tremors that she experienced around him.

  
“At the time, I honestly didn’t have the slightest clue. I didn’t really consider what I was saying, just that it was true. I’m just…” Her mind spun as she fell silent, trying to piece together what she might have meant, or how they might actually achieve the result of giving her less control than she currently had. However she kept coming back to the same problem. How could she have less control in a situation where she had none save ending it by using her safeword? She had no control left to give to him there unless they really did away with any limits they’d decided on, but even then they’d both agreed entirely to the absolute ‘no’s’ so there wouldn’t be any change.

  
“You… you were frustrated with the limitations by confining everything to while we’re in this Room,” she absently pointed out, and she could almost feel him raising a brow behind her in a quizzical manner even though she couldn’t see him.

  
“Yeah?”

  
“What if… what if we extended things _beyond_ the Room? Just a little?”

  
Now it was official, she could literally feel his confusion.

  
“Doesn’t that sort of violate the keeping things separate rule?”

  
“We don’t actually have a rule about keeping things separate, Sir,” she pointed out. “We have one about not bringing in things from outside into what happens here. And we have the terms we use for each other in here, or when we’re otherwise actively in the dynamic we’re building, ‘Sir’ and ‘Mine’. But none of the rules specifically state that only in here are we in the dynamic, and outside we’re not. If that were true you’d have broken that rule yourself several times. Our first session that you surprised me with, the note you sent me at lunch the other day, any time you’ve called me ‘Mine’ outside of our space… even the homework assignment you gave me would have violated a rule like that.”

  
As she spoke she was very careful to take note of her tone to ensure she didn't slip into her usual ‘lecture mode’ as her Sir liked to call it.

  
“Huh. You’re right, I hadn’t considered that. We’d have both broken that a dozen times over by now,” he muttered thoughtfully. “So, did you have a suggestion then?”

  
 _I just might_ , she thought, idly chewing on her lower lip for a moment until she suddenly blinked in surprise when she felt him gently tugging her lip from between her teeth.

  
“You really need to stop doing that,” he whispered. “You have no idea how sexy you look when you do that, and I can’t have you distracting me right now, Mine.”

  
She blushed again and squirmed slightly in his lap as the low tone of his voice seemed to send a shiver of pleasure through her body, then she suddenly froze as another thought clicked into place. _Holy… he’s right, I can’t sit still when I’m turned on._

  
He laughed again, low in his throat as if he knew what she’d just realized and she turned in his lap until she was sitting sideways so she could wrap her arms around his shoulders again.

  
“You’re terrible,” she muttered.

  
“You love it.”

  
She didn’t say anything. Honestly, there wasn’t anything she _could_ say. He was right. She absolutely loved what he did to her, as much as the entire thing continued to amaze her. That he held so much control over her and her body’s reactions was mind boggling, especially considering they were really only scratching the surface still.

  
“Suggestion?” he prompted a moment later, causing her to shake herself out of her thoughts and back into their conversation.

  
“Right. The only thing I can really think of is… well what if you started giving me orders to follow outside of here?” she waved absently at the Room with one hand, “Simple things that wouldn’t draw attention to us, things that only you and I would know about? You could even give me new orders out there too, just whisper them to me, and as long as they’re not something that would draw attention...”

  
“How would that work? Outside here, in the rest of our lives you’re not my sub, you’re my girlfriend, and I don’t order my girlfriend around.”

  
She frowned at that and sat up so she could see him. “But… I said it before, Sir, I’m your sub and your girlfriend. I don’t stop being one or the other just because of where we are.”

  
Once more, abject confusion was clear on his face and in his eyes. “But… but if we’re keeping things separate, like you insisted, how does that make sense?”

  
Just like the day she figured out just what it actually meant to be submissive, and that she might have such a side within herself, she felt a fevered sensation growing inside her. A thrill at finally understanding something that had eluded her, as she started to realize just what might be the main cause of Harry’s issues with their dynamic.

  
“Sir, have… have you been trying to keep me separate in your head like that this whole time? Almost like thinking of me as two different people?”

  
“Well of course I have. We’re only in this dynamic in here, or if we’re outside it’s a lead up to coming here, or to our other room before now. When we’re just sitting around with Ron, or in classes or doing our homework, you’re my girlfriend, not my sub and I’m not your Dom.”

  
“Yes... you _are_ ,” she insisted, several things clicking forcefully into place in her mind. “Merlin, Sir, I’m so sorry. I… I didn’t realize the whole idea of separation was confusing you like this,” she muttered. Dammit, why hadn’t she seen that? Emotional things were confusing for him, she knew that from the time he spent talking to her when she was petrified.

  
“What are you talking about?”

  
“Oh, how to explain it so you'll understand… not that I don't think you're capable of understanding,” she hastened to add the last part. “I'm just… I'm not entirely certain how to explain it….”

  
She thought furiously, her brain on fire once again as thoughts raced around chasing about each other in a chaotic mess that only she would've been able to make any sense of.

  
“Sir… have you been having difficulty in keeping that separation you were trying for?”

  
“How do you mean?”

  
“It's something I was thinking when i read your note here. The order not to use the cushioning charm. I was thinking that you still treated me as a sub with the same kind of tenderness and care that you use with me as your girlfriend.”

  
“Okay, now you're making even less sense. First you're saying that you're both sub and girlfriend, but now you're separating how I treat you depending on which one you are at the time.”

  
“I think I can explain it,” she said. “I just… can you please answer a couple more questions for me? Help me understand your thoughts, so I can explain mine?”

  
He sighed, clearly frustrated, but nodded for her to continue.

  
“Hey, this is part of us communicating better, right?” she reminded him. “We need to talk about our concerns with each other. And actually this leads me rather well to something that's been bothering me a little.”

  
He considered that for a moment before he sighed again, though more in resignation than frustration.

“You're right, and that was at my insistence too, that we talk more. So I'll try to be patient. What was your concern?”

  
Now that the moment was on her, she found herself suddenly extremely nervous, but if they wanted to move past this, they couldn't avoid talking about uncomfortable topics.

  
“I've… I've been wondering why you haven't been… haven't been using me, Sir,” she mumbled, blushing furiously, but she absolutely refused to look away from him.

  
He didn't seem to be in much better shape thankfully, his own cheeks blooming with a brilliant red as he shifted nervously under her. “You mean… uh….”

  
“Sexually,” she said bluntly. “Every session I've been fully dressed, until this one.” She glanced down at her naked body, his eyes following her gaze until stopping on her bare breasts for a moment. She grinned as he tilted his head back up to look her in the eyes. “ _Exactly_ , Sir,” she teased, her grin widening as he growled at her. “But really, it’s things like that, that have been confusing me. You know I’d get on my knees right now and suck your c-cock if you ordered me to, Sir. And I’ve seen that you like looking at me, so why haven’t you done anything? Using me for your pleasure and mine is a part of this whole thing.”

  
His mouth dropped open slightly when she said ‘cock’, even though she did stumble a little over the word, overcoming her natural inclination not to use crude language, and she felt a thrill of pride that she was able to surprise him. He recovered quickly though, leaning back more against the corner of the sofa.

  
“I haven’t really been sure,” he admitted. “That’s actually one of the things I wanted to talk to you about. One of my issues with this... what I mentioned the other day... and after we first wrote out the contract and discussed all this... later that day, I was wondering about it. You… you seemed so insistent on wanting a more sexual aspect to this. But outside of our space, whatever room we’re using, I haven’t seen that same kind of… desire, I guess? I mean. As my sub, you want this, obviously. But as my girlfriend? Outside of here you haven’t seemed interested. Or maybe it just… I don’t know. I wasn’t sure if you only wanted to do things together in here, or what… I don’t know that I’m making any sense at all now.”

  
“No… no that does make sense, Sir,” she disagreed. “I think I understand at least. And I believe part of that problem is a matter of balance. I mean… really, outside of when we get away for a session, or when we’d discuss the aspects of this dynamic, when are we ever really alone? Just the two of us, with no one else around?”

  
He thought about that for a moment before he shrugged. “Never really.”

  
“Right. We haven’t been able to… oh say... go on a date or something, since your awful Uncle wouldn’t sign your Hogsmeade slip. So us spending time as a couple has kind of been overshadowed by us being in this dynamic. Although… you realize that I _could_ be your sub and us not actually be a couple, right?”

  
A hurt look flashed across his face for a moment.

  
“Not to say I don’t want us to be together, I do, Sir. I… I think I’ve wanted it for a long time actually, I just kept trying to convince myself otherwise. My point was, that other people could just have the dynamic if they wanted, without being in an actual relationship. They could limit themselves to simply using each other in a scene or session, however they want to define it, and otherwise they could not even be friends for all we know. I don’t think that would be a lasting thing, but it could be done.

  
“The difference here is we are a couple. What I want as your sub, I want as your girlfriend too. I want to kiss you and more. We just haven’t really gotten away except for these times.”

  
By the time she finished he was smiling again, and she couldn’t help but answer with a smile of her own as she leaned forward to kiss him. “I wish you’d said something sooner,” she murmured against his lips. “We really haven’t been making this easy on ourselves.”

  
“We’re getting better though,” he pointed out, and she backed away, nodding her head.

  
“Okay, so… we’ll come back to _that_ in a moment,” she said, causing him to give her another quizzical look but she’d already moved on. “As far as the separation goes. What I most meant was outside of this Room, or wherever we happen to be when you’re controlling me, or commanding me… well, wouldn’t it seem odd if you gave me an order around Ron, and I just obeyed you without question? Or if you spoke to me the way you do in here? People would ask questions. They’d wonder what was going on, and we don’t want everyone knowing our personal business, right?

  
“I meant it more as a way to try to stop us from accidentally falling into the habit of order and obey, so that when we’re in public we don’t do or say something that gives us away… does that make sense? I didn’t mean that, outside of here that I’m not still your sub. I am _always_ your sub, Sir. I am always going to be yours to control. I… being submissive to you… that isn’t something I just decided would be fun, though I certainly do enjoy it.

  
“It’s a part of me, it’s a part of who I am, and what I am. I didn’t really understand that at first, but I’m starting to. I don’t want you to control me, I need you to. I feel… it makes me feel wonderful when you take command of me, and when I know what I’ve done pleases you. I… I can’t think of how to explain it other than that.”

  
By the time she finished there was a desperate, almost pleading tone to her voice, as if begging him to understand what she was saying and he placed his hands on her shoulders before he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly.

  
“So,” he asked quietly a few minutes later. “Let me see if I understand this all correctly. I’ve been worrying over how I treat you as my girlfriend versus as my sub… for no reason, basically? Just a misunderstanding of what we each understood ‘separate’ to mean in this situation?”

  
She nodded, her face pressed against his neck, slowly breathing in the scent of his skin. “That’s pretty much it. Whatever we would do in here, I would be just as willing to do as your girlfriend somewhere else, since I’m always your sub and always your girlfriend at the same time.”

  
He let out a long breath followed by a rather self deprecating chuckle. “Well… damn, I feel kind of stupid. I really should have asked this weeks ago, I just… I wasn’t really sure how to do that.”

  
“So… does this mean you’re going to stop worrying, and stop holding back with me?” she asked hesitantly.

  
“Might not just get better overnight, but I’m certainly going to try. It’ll be easier, I think, knowing that treating you differently depends on where we are, not what role we’re each playing. Because it’s not a role for you, is it? Like you said, it’s a part of you, not something you’re pretending.”

  
Hermione nodded again, smiling though something about what he said tickled her attention, she just wasn’t sure what, yet.

  
The alarm on Harry’s watch started beeping and his head fell back as he let out a groan.

  
“It’s nearly time for dinner,” he muttered, reaching over to silence the incessant noise.

  
“I should get dressed then,” she said, disappointed that their time was up. She was tempted to use the Time Turner, but then they would have had to find a different room and none would be as secure as this one. Better to wait, she thought and reluctantly climbed off of Harry’s lap. She very carefully did not smirk or grin when Harry attempted to subtly adjust himself, but she noticed and loved the effect she had on him.

  
Walking over to the chest she pulled out her clothes, slightly surprised that she wasn’t feeling at all embarrassed to just be standing there naked in front of him as she laid each item out and started dressing. She moved almost on auto-pilot, her mind analyzing everything that had happened, and everything they’d discussed as she dressed, first pulling a red pair of her boyshort knickers up her legs and over her hips before she reached for the matching bra. Her skirt followed, and she’d pulled on her blouse, but had yet to button it when she suddenly froze in place, her eyes taking on a distant look for a few moments before she turned to Harry, her blouse hanging open still.

  
“You said ‘it’s a part of you. Not something you’re pretending.’,” she blurted out, and Harry turned from where he’d moved to roll up their new contract so he could tuck it into her bag for safe keeping.

  
“What was that?” he asked, looking up at her with a confused expression coming over his face.

  
She started buttoning her blouse, a distressed feeling growing in her chest. “When you were talking about it being easier in the future, not having to think of the roles we’re playing so much as where we are. You said that it wasn’t a role for me, and that it was a part of me.”

  
His eyes moved toward the ceiling as he thought back for a moment, and finally he nodded. “Yeah, I think that’s what I said. Why?”

  
She didn’t answer at first, taking time to tuck in her blouse and then placed her Time Turner back around her neck, tucking it under her clothes, and then pulling on her robes.

  
“You didn’t say anything about you, Harry,” she pointed out. “You didn’t say that being a Dom is a part of you. I know when we started, you really didn’t choose it because you wanted to, but because you wanted to help me. I appreciate you wanting to help, Harry, but I said it before it won’t work, not in the long run if this isn’t something _you_ want. If it’s not a part of who you are, do you think you’ll be able to keep being my Dom? Or will you get tired of the ‘role’ eventually.”

  
The expression on Harry’s face she thought she might have easily reproduce by punching him in the nose without any reason or warning. It was a pained, confused expression, and she really didn’t like seeing it. Silence filled the room as she finished dressing, and gathered the rest of her belongings, slinging one strap of her bag over her right shoulder.

  
“Don’t answer me right now. Please… think about this very carefully, Harry. I… I really need you to _know_ … to truly know that you want this. Not just that you’re willing to do it for me, but that you want to do it for yourself, too. Does that make sense?”

  
Frowning, he nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think so,” he muttered.

  
Moving over to him she pulled him into a hug and kissed him gently. “Please, think about this,” she repeated, looking into his eyes the entire time. “It’s _extremely_ important. Once you have an answer, let me know, and we’ll figure out what we can do from there, okay?”

  
“I understand, Hermione,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. I obviously didn’t think all this through well enough at the beginning. But I promise, I’ll consider it extremely carefully now, and I’ll get you your answer as quickly as I can.”

  
Merlin, she hoped that he truly did want this dynamic. If he didn’t… she honestly wasn’t sure if their relationship could survive it. She understood, finally, that she honestly needed the dynamic they were building, and if he couldn’t fulfill that role, she didn’t know how they could work things out.

  
“Come on,” she said, forcing a smile onto her lips so as not to worry him. “We need to go down to eat, and I have a question for you.” She hooked her arm through his and the two of them left the Room, the door vanishing behind them as they walked away.

  
“I’ve been wondering since earlier. How did you summon the chest that had that paddle in it? And then how did you send it back? We haven’t learned the summoning charm yet, and you shouldn’t have been able to do either of those wandlessly.”

  
He looked at her and grinned, that lopsided boyish sort of grin that was such a trademark of his it was nearly more recognizable, to her, than the lightning bolt scar above his eye. “The Room did that.”

  
“Wait, what? How?”

  
“I requested the Room, so I control it while I’m there,” he explained as they made their way toward the Great Hall. “I needed the chest by me, so the Room made it happen.”

  
She considered that for a moment. “So… waving your hand…”

  
“Complete theatrics,” he confirmed. “I could have sat there completely motionless and the thing still would have come flying over when I wanted it to.”

  
Hermione shook her head, dumbfounded by the changes the last few weeks had wrought in her boyfriend. He’d never been one for that kind of sleight-of-hand showmanship. He wasn’t one to showboat or to do something simply because of how it would appear to someone else. He was a straightforward type of person, but she had to admit this new side of him was certainly entertaining.

  
By that time, the halls around them had become more populated, and they joined a small stream of students heading toward the Great Hall, forcing them to turn their conversation to more mundane topics. Harry started asking about the day’s Ancient Runes lesson. He was still behind the rest of them, but Professor Babbling had commented that it was built off of a lesson from the previous term that he’d already covered so they were able to lobby ideas and concepts back and forth while they walked.

  
“‘Bout time you two showed up,” Ron complained when they sat down across from him at the Gryffindor table. “Haven’t seen either of you since classes ended.”

  
“Did you check the Library?” Harry asked, and the look on Ron’s face told them both clearly that no, he had not.

  
“We were there for a little while, had to do some classwork, and then we went out walking,” he said as he passed a platter of steak and kidney pie down the table. Hermione mostly tuned them out at the point, turning her attention to her meal as she was quite suddenly ravenous. Idly she supposed that had something to do with the strain she’d been put under earlier; physically, emotionally, and mentally, the entire experience had been draining, satisfying, and completely worth every bit of pain, but now she was starting to flag.

  
She shifted slightly in her spot on the bench, holding back a wince as the movement reminded her that her arse still burned like the dickens. She’d have to check in the morning and see if she had any bruises, she supposed.

  
Or maybe Sir could check for you? she thought, then dismissed the idea as she still wasn’t sure what Harry was going to decide. She sighed when she suddenly felt Harry’s arm wrap around her, allowing her to lean into him just a bit.

  
A moment later his chin was resting on her shoulder, and she felt his warm breath brush across her ear, as he quietly whispered, “Mine?”

  
She was fairly positive her entire body went completely rigid as that single word registered, her eyes darting wildly back and forth for a moment before she realized that not a single person was paying them the slightest bit of attention. A hopeful sensation grew, and she very carefully restrained her reaction to an equally quiet, “Sir?”

  
“We’ll be having our next session this Saturday, we’ll work out the time later. When you get to the room, I want you to wait for me, just as you were today. I think that will be standard from now on. Do you understand.”

  
 _Kneeling naked, waiting for you?_ “Yes, Sir, I understand,” she replied, feeling practically giddy as she realized that this was his way of letting her know his decision. He really did want what they had.

  
“One more thing. Between now and then, I want you to prepare a list, Mine.”

  
_A list? Where’s he going with this?_

  
“A list of what, Sir?”

  
“Five things that you want to try. I’ll decide what, if any of them, we actually do. But you’ll have that list ready for me come Saturday.”

  
Almost immediately she couldn’t help but shift her weight slightly in her seat, and she swore she could practically _hear_ him smirking as she moved.

  
“Yes, Sir,” she practically squeaked out.

  
“Good girl,” he whispered and she closed her eyes for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek to distract her.

  
His arm tightened in a quick squeeze around her middle before he straightened up, turning away from her to speak to Neville, whom was sitting on Ron’s other side and across the table from them.

  
“Hermione? Are you okay?”

  
Startled, her eyes opened and she turned to see her dorm mate giving her a curious look from a few seats away on her other side.

  
“I’m fine, Lavender,” she choked out. “Just… bit my tongue accidentally.”

  
The giggly blond didn’t seem entirely convinced, but she shrugged anyway and turned back to her conversation with Parvati, leaving Hermione to turn back and level a glare at her boyfriend. He wasn’t looking her way, but she could tell he was smirking.

  
 _You enjoyed that, didn’t you, Potter?_ she thought, entirely too thrilled with him to be in any way upset with how smug he was acting.

  
She returned to her dinner, considerably more cheerful than she’d been moments before. With the concern over what Harry would decide alleviated, she turned her thoughts to something else. How could she show him just how much she wanted him as her Dom while everyone else still just saw her being his girlfriend in public? She considered several different ideas throughout the rest of the meal, and they were making their way toward the Tower to relax before bed, when she struck on something that she felt would properly convey her commitment. She only wondered if she would have the nerve to actually do it.

  
Entering the Common Room, she followed him over to their usual sofa by the fire. As they sat she checked her watch, quickly doing some math in her head. Since she’d left for her punishment immediately after class, she hadn’t gotten around to any of her assignments yet, and there was no way that she was willing to let them sit, wasting the time she had and could be working on them. A look around the room showed that it was still fairly crowded, early enough in the evening that most of the Tower’s occupants were present, either lounging around or doing their own classwork. She chewed on her lip thoughtfully as she tried to decide what course to take.

  
“You need to stop doing that,” Harry murmured, and she blinked in surprise when she felt him gently tugging her lip from between her teeth. “I already told you what that does to me, Mine.”

  
“Sorry,” she muttered, blushing slightly, but grinning in spite of herself. She looked around again then leaned against him, pulling her legs up so that she was half laying down, her upper body propped up against him as his left arm came around her. She rested her head on his shoulder and tilted her head back so her lips were close to his ear.

  
“Sir?” she whispered.

  
“Hmmm?”

  
“I’d… I’d like to show you what I meant. About wanting you as my Dom but still being your girlfriend.”

  
He turned his head slightly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

  
“How so?”

  
At that she nearly bit her lip again, but stopped herself, unsure if he really meant it as an order, or if he was just teasing her about that habit.

  
“If… if I tell you it would sort of lose some of the impact, Sir.”

  
He turned back to face the fire, relaxing back into the sofa as he thought before slowly nodding his head.

  
“Go ahead then, Mine,” he whispered, and she nodded, lifting her head for a moment to make sure no one was looking in their direction. When she was certain they weren’t being observed, she laid her head back down, and with her left hand she quickly reached under her skirt and grasped the edge of her knickers. A quick press of her legs to lift her hips slightly, and a tug of her hand, and she was sliding them down her legs until she was able to pull them off over her shoes. Reaching over she stuffed them into his robe pocket and leaned her head back again to look up at him, noting the shocked expression on his face with more than a little satisfaction.

  
His shock slowly morphed into that tiny smirk that she’d come to both love and view with a sense of trepidation, as he patted his pocket with his free hand for a moment.

  
“Well… you gave them to me, Mine. They belong to me now, and you’re not to wear any more until I say you can. Do you understand?”

  
She was positive that her face probably mirrored his shocked look from moments before, as she ducked her head slightly, while still keeping eye contact with him. Slowly a small, pleased smile turned up her lips and she murmured, “Yes, Sir.”

 


	9. Pushing Behind

On Thursday morning Harry woke early, bleary eyed, and with a headache already pounding between his temples. He had spent much of the night unable to sleep, lying awake with his thoughts whirling a mile a minute through his head. There was so much that he’d had wrong in his head, he could hardly believe that his skewed understanding of things hadn’t caused any _bigger_ misunderstandings.

  
Once again, he’d been lucky, and dammit he wanted to stop relying on luck to carry him through everything! He considered how he had been approaching his relationship with Hermione that morning as he showered, and in the light of day, the conclusions he’d reached the night before made just as much sense now as they had then.

  
First, she really _was_ submissive. As they’d both said the day before, each in their own ways, it was truly who she was, at least with him. It was purely accidental that she’d discovered that side of herself, but once she had, like with Pandora’s box, that door had been opened and there was no locking that part of her away again. He very much doubted that she would ever be happy with a normal relationship; not after what he’d seen in her during her punishment and her behavior afterwards.

  
The second conclusion he’d reached, was the realization that he really did _want_ to own and control Hermione, his Mine. He’d been thinking of being her Dom as a role, something to slip into, and out of, at the appropriate times, yet how strongly he’d reacted to the role had frightened and confused him at times. The two aspects of their relationship, boyfriend and Dom, had seemed so at odds with each other, that seeing his place as Dom as a part-of-the-time situation had seemed like the way to go about things; she’d told him different. He’d thought entirely in terms of helping her, and even though he knew he’d enjoyed it he’d shied away from the understanding that, once exposed to it, he wanted her. He _wanted_ to use her, tease her, and torture her until she begged.

  
Whether she would be begging for relief, or for more, was entirely debatable.

  
To do that, though, would require a few things, and a few decisions. More than a few actually. He needed to change the way he thought, because she had been completely right. _She_ had the ability to stop everything at any time. If they wanted to truly learn what they both wanted out of their relationship, they were going to have to step outside of their comfort zones, push their limits. Carefully. There was no reason to be reckless, but that push was needed.

  
By the time he left the shower and dressed, he could barely describe how he felt. Buoyant. Electric. Happy… he was happy, and really looking forward to the future for perhaps the first time in his life. Before Hogwarts life had been bleak, there hadn’t seemed to be much point in trying to dream about the future.

After coming to school there were moments of joy of course: meeting his friends, meeting Hermione, even a lot of his classes were fun and interesting. But each year there had also been danger, terror, and an increasing level of uncertainty as to if he would even _survive_ to see his next birthday.

  
Now… the danger was still there. Black was out there. The Dementors were out there. But he had something worth more than anything else he’d ever known. Coming down the stairs into the Common Room he found her waiting on their sofa, her head bowed over a book, hair tied back with the ribbon he’d given her, exposing her slender neck and the line of her jaw that would normally have been hidden by her warm brown curls. He couldn’t help the smile that split his lips as he snuck up behind her, leaning over the back of the sofa to press his lips against her neck, just below her ear.

  
“Hmmm…” she hummed, leaning her head back toward him. “Good morning,” she practically purred as he came around the sofa. Standing in front of her, he took the book from her hands, ignoring her protests as he carefully set it aside, making sure not to lose her page, then he lifted her to her feet, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her into the most intense kiss they’d yet shared. Her protests died instantly and she clung to him, her eyes falling closed as he kissed her. He smirked as he considered that, if anyone else had interrupted her reading, they’d probably have been on the receiving end of a verbal lashing at best, or a hexing at worst, depending on her mood.

  
He let out an involuntary, approving hum in the back of his throat as his hands fell to her hips, sliding down to cup her arse through her skirt and he noticed that he couldn’t feel any knickers through the material.

  
“Good girl,” he whispered, breaking the kiss to look into her eyes.

  
“As ordered, Sir,” she whispered back, a teasing look in her eyes.

  
A minute later they were sitting on the sofa and she glanced over at him, her book in her lap once again.

“What’s got you in such a good mood this morning?” she questioned curiously, to which he shrugged.

  
“I’m not completely certain. I think I understand things better now. I feel… I spent most of the night lying in bed, thinking, and today I just feel like I understand myself, and you, better than I did yesterday.” He shrugged again, not entirely sure how to explain it any better than that.

  
“Well I’m glad for that,” she said, smiling brightly. They sat for a few minutes, chatting quietly before Hermione glanced at her watch, she then packed away her bag before she stood and slung it over one shoulder. “Breakfast?” she asked, holding one hand out to him.

  
“Sounds like a plan.” Taking her hand, he let himself be pulled to his feet and the two of them started their way down toward the Great Hall in silence, simply enjoying each other’s presence as they walked. Their route took them past their class room on the first floor, Harry suddenly pausing in front of the door as an idea popped into his head.

  
“Harry?” Hermione’s voice brought him out of his thoughts and he turned to look at her. “Is everything okay?” she asked and he nodded.

  
“Yeah… just got an idea,” he muttered, brow furrowed as he attempted to think over all the possible angles.

  
“What idea?”

  
He glanced up at her, slightly nervous, but a quick review of the potential possibilities told him he just might be able to convince her.

  
“Well… I think I want to hire Dobby.”

 

#####

 

The two of them finally took their seats at the Gryffindor table, nearly half an hour later than they should have based on when they’d left the Tower. As she filled her plate, Hermione thought back over the bombshell of a statement Harry had dropped on her. She had to admit, the ensuing discussion had not been one of her finer moments, though luckily Sir hadn’t taken any of it as her violating any rules. He understood how she felt about the kind of treatment elves, like Dobby, were subjected to, and didn’t hold her knee jerk reaction against her.

  
He had managed to get through to her though, using a few pieces of information that she’d honestly never even considered before. The first being that house elves seemed to be a fairly submissive race by nature. He’d explained to her about how he’d tried asking Dobby about why he kept punishing himself, and it had lead to a much longer and stranger discussion than he’d expected. She had not been at all happy to realize that Dobby seemed to know a lot more about their personal lives than she would prefer, but Harry had made a second good point in that there was no way to tell what house elves knew, or where they were, since they spent so much of their time invisible.

  
It didn’t make her feel any less weirded out, but he had a point.

  
The third point he’d brought up had been probably one of the more relevant to his idea, and to them in particular. Dobby, it turned out, could go shopping for his Master or Mistress, even in muggle stores if need be. That they’d discovered when Harry had called the excitable little guy and asked him. At first, she hadn’t been certain why he was asking about shopping until Harry asked Dobby to leave and then turned to her to explain.

  
_It’s a good idea,_ she admitted as she worked her way through her breakfast. _Dobby can pick up some items for us that Harry wants available for our sessions. Things we wouldn’t be able to get our hands on otherwise. At least not for a long while._

  
Admittedly she’d been extremely embarrassed by the idea that the little elf would know what some of the things they might have him buy would, or could, be used for. She had even tried suggesting the Room’s ability to conjure items for use when needed. Harry’s answer had sold her on the idea of having Dobby do the shopping, and also made her feel somewhat ill at the same time.

  
He’d simply looked at her and said: “Most of the items the Room creates will disappear when they cross the doorway. They only seem to exist inside it. Other things don’t disappear, but from what I’ve been told, those items probably belonged to a past student or staff member and got lost here at the school. Would you really want me to put something inside you that might have belonged to Professor Vector or Professor McGonagall for all we know?”

  
At the mention of something being put inside her, she’d blushed furiously, then paled and felt slightly nauseated over the idea of used props. With that idea in her head, and Harry’s assurance that he would work out pay and time off with Dobby, she was willing to agree to him bonding with the little guy. The only other thing she’d insisted on was that they clean and take care of whatever they collected. She would not have Dobby cleaning something that might have been in her...

  
Of course, now she found herself insanely curious over just what was going onto the shopping list Harry was putting together in his head. He’d said that he would write it all down later, and call for Dobby when he wanted him to go pick up his list, but absolutely refused to tell her what he was planning on getting.

  
“Harry?”

  
Hermione turned, just as Harry did beside her, to find Susan Bones standing behind them, rolled piece of parchment in her hand with a wax seal on it. The pretty redhead had a slightly bemused expression on her face as she held out the scroll when Harry turned.

  
“My Auntie sent this to me and asked that I give it to you. Apparently she tried to contact you a few days ago, but the letter returned unopened. She said she didn’t think you would have ignored a letter from her considering that you contacted her a few weeks ago with some questions?”

  
“I’ve never received anything from her except when Hedwig brought her reply saying that she would look into my questions,” Harry said, reaching out to take the scroll. Susan shrugged. Hermione noted, with more than a little annoyance, that Ron, sitting on Harry’s other side, had immediately looked down at the girl’s chest as her body moved in response to her shrug.

  
“I don’t know. Anyway, I need to finish my breakfast, so I’ll see you two later in Ancient Runes?” Susan asked.

  
Hermione and Harry both nodded as she turned and walked back to the Hufflepuff table. Hermione immediately grabbed a piece of toast and threw it at Ron’s head.

  
“Oi! What was that for?” he blurted out when the golden brown projectile bounced off the side of his head.

  
“For staring at Susan like she was a slab of steak. That’s disgusting, Ron, girls don’t want to be ogled like that.”

  
“Harry was looking at her too,” he protested. “ _He’s_ your boyfriend, why aren’t you throwing anything at him?”

  
“ _Harry_ was being a gentleman. He was looking at her _face_ , not her breasts.”

  
Ron’s ears were as red as they’d ever been, though Hermione honestly wasn’t certain if he was mad or embarrassed. Either way, he turned his attention back to his breakfast, and she turned hers to Harry, who was reading the letter he’d received with a pensive frown on his face.

  
“Is everything okay?” she asked.

  
His frown grew deeper as he held the parchment out to her. “I honestly don’t know. Here, tell me what you make of it?”

  
Taking the letter, she pushed her nearly empty plate aside, and laid the letter out flat on the table in front of her.

_To: Heir Potter of House Potter_

  
_Mr. Potter,_

  
_I've uncovered a few_ irregularities _regarding the case you brought to my attention. Certain individuals have worked rather hard to make sure these_ irregularities _never see the light of day, but rest assured I will find out what happened for you._

  
_Sincerely,_   
_Amelia Bones_   
_Regent of House Bones_   
_Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement_

Hermione blinked, and read the short missive twice more, before she sat back on the bench, staring off into space as she turned the words over in her mind.

  
“I honestly haven’t the foggiest on this,” she finally admitted, turning to look at Harry. “Obviously someone is trying to cover something up regarding Sirius Black, but the rest? I don’t have any idea.”

  
Harry blinked several times, staring at her in bemusement for a moment, before he snapped out of it. “What?” he asked. “Cover up? And rest of what?”

  
“Well… look, see? In the letter she stressed the word ‘irregularities’ twice. There’s no real reason to do that unless she’s trying to tell you something. Considering you were asking about Black’s court case and interrogation, it sounds to me like she’s found something fishy about the whole thing, but the information is being suppressed, probably by someone higher in the government than she is.”

  
“Okay, I’m fairly certain I never would have figured that out on my own,” he muttered, glaring at the letter as if it had personally insulted him somehow. “What about the rest? Rest of what? There’s nothing else here.”

  
“Look at who the letter is addressed to,” she pointed out and he leaned over her shoulder to look.

  
“‘Heir Potter of House Potter’,” he read aloud. “Heir Potter? Heir of what? What’s House Potter?”

  
“Blimey, you mean you don’t know?”

  
They both turned to look at Ron, who was staring at them as if they’d both suddenly sprouted a second head.

  
“How can you _not_ know?” he asked, his eyes fixed on Harry.

  
“Know what, Ron? I grew up in the muggle world remember? What’s _one more thing_ that I don’t know, things that you take for granted because you grew up around them?” Harry snapped irritably.

  
“Hon, calm down, please,” Hermione soothed, placing a calming hand on his arm. “Ron just forgets sometimes, about how much we don’t know, since he _did_ grow up around it. That’s not a reason to bite his head off, right?”

  
He took a deep breath to try to calm himself, and nodded at Ron. “Sorry,” he muttered.

  
“So, could you explain what this is about?” Hermione asked, gesturing to the letter.

  
“Well, Harry is the last Potter,” Ron hesitantly explained. “That makes him the Heir to the Potter family and title."

  
“Title?” Harry asked, exchanging a confused look with his girlfriend.

  
“Yeah,” Ron muttered around a mouthful of something. “The old pureblood Houses have different rankings. There’s whether the House is noble or not, then ranked by generational age: Most Ancient, Ancient, Elder, Minor, and New Blood. Potter is one of the Most Ancient and Noble Houses. Been around almost as long as Hogwarts has.”

  
“So… what? When I’m of age I’ll be Lord Potter?” Harry asked incredulously, to which their friend nodded.

  
“Yeah. I don’t know entirely what it all means. Weasley is an Ancient House, but we don’t run in the same social circles as most of the rest of them so…” He shrugged, then nodded down the table. “Neville could probably explain it better, he’s Heir of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Longbottom, but he grew up with it, betcha his Gran has had him taking lessons on what it’ll mean when he’s Head of House since he was little.”

  
Hermione was frowning in thought, wondering just what all this would mean for Harry, when she noticed that the Hall was emptying as students finished eating and started heading off for their first class of the day.

  
“Come on,” she said, nudging Harry gently with her shoulder. “We can ask Neville about all this later after class.”

  
He nodded, still looking more than a touch distracted, and rose as she did, following her from the Hall.

  
“You know?” she whispered to him once they were in the hallways and heading for class. “You could ask your little helper if he could get any information from Gringotts on your inheritance. Maybe they can give you some more information on what being Head of House means too.”

  
“Not a bad idea,” he muttered after taking a moment to think that over. “I’ll probably do that when I ask him to get our shopping done.”

  
Her mouth opened then snapped shut again when he kept talking.

  
“... and no, I’m not going to tell you what’s going on my list.” He smirked at her as she put on her best pout, while internally she was smiling, glad that he wasn’t letting this new information regarding his family get him down.

 

#####

 

That afternoon, Harry bonded Dobby and sent the little guy off with a folded piece of parchment in hand, as well as a letter to the goblins at Gringotts to request a summary of the Potter vaults before his shopping trip. Harry wasn’t sure about specifying more than one vault, but when they’d talked to Neville during Herbology, he’d been very clear that the odds of the Potters only having one vault were so slim as to be laughable.

  
There had been nothing to do after that but classwork to keep them occupied so Harry had sat down and let Hermione work with him on his Ancient Runes packet. Professor Babbling had provided him with a large packet with each of the assignments the rest of the class had already completely during the year written out. He was to complete each one and turn them in, as well as tracking the current assignments, so that he could hopefully catch up. It wasn’t easy by any stretch, but he was actually gaining on the class, closing the gap between where he was in relation to the rest of the class.

  
Friday morning he found a thick leather bound portfolio sitting on the nightstand beside his bed with the Gringotts seal pressed into the cover. After some thought he tucked it away in his trunk, resolving to look through it over the weekend, hopefully with Hermione’s help.

  
Throughout the day he caught her watching him, expectantly at times, and at his best guess, he figured she was wondering when the session the next day was going to take place. He actually hadn’t known himself until Dobby returned from his shopping trip and the scattered pieces of an idea began to come together in his head. If they were going to find out what they each wanted in this relationship, it was time to start pushing those limits, and it seemed to him that an early start was the best way to go about it.

  
Saturday morning marked a turning point for him when he met Hermione in the Common Room early that morning, and the two of them made their way to the Great Hall, making them the first students down, eating quickly, as they preferred not to linger over their meal. Hermione was muttering to herself between bites, going over Arithmancy formulae and Transfiguration theories until the time came for them to leave.

  
In the hallway outside Harry reached out and caught her hand, pulling her to a stop, and then into his arms as he leaned down to kiss her. He held her gently and tried to express everything he felt for her with that simple action. When he finally pulled away, she had a pleased, but puzzled, expression on her face, smiling softly at him.

  
“What was that for?” she asked, and the smirk he’d found himself wearing more and more often of late, turned up the corner of his mouth. It was obvious that she’d noticed because her eyes widened slightly, and he felt her body stiffen against him for a brief moment.

  
“I just wanted to remind you that I care about you, and that you mean the world to me,” he murmured, lifting one hand to brush a thumb across her cheek.

  
“Why would I need a reminder?” she asked cautiously and his smirk grew wider as he leaned in again, bringing his mouth close to her ear.

  
“Because, Mine, the rest of the morning is going to be a bit… rougher on you.”

  
If he hadn’t been so close to her, he would never have heard the tiny squeak that escaped her, which only caused his grin to widen even more, and his pulse to race, as that same thrill passed through him at each tiny reaction she made.

  
Pulling back so he could look into her eyes, he noted just how wide they’d gotten, clearly showing the entirety of her cinnamon irises, and her cheeks were already flushing with that delicate red that he so enjoyed seeing.

  
“You remember I told you our next session was today, don’t you, Mine?”

  
She swallowed almost convulsively, before she answered in a low, breathy voice, “I remember, Sir.”

  
He tilted his head in the direction of the Grand Staircase. “Go,” he whispered. “Now.”

  
She leaned in to close the few inches between them and pressed a quick kiss to his lips before she turned and practically bolted from his arms, moving quickly up the stairs.

  
A short laugh escaped him when he noticed that she was already pulling the green ribbon from her hair, even before she’d moved out of his sight onto the next floor. “Damn, she’s eager,” he muttered and started making his own way toward the seventh floor, strolling along slowly as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  
As he walked, he considered the difference that he felt that morning compared to the previous sessions they’d shared. Before… well he enjoyed many aspects of what they were doing, he’d found a certain satisfaction in how Hermione responded to him, but his thinking was different now. Before he’d been there for her, to help her, and how _he’d_ felt was always secondary to that goal.

  
This morning however, he was doing this because _he_ wanted to. He wanted to learn more about the brilliant, beautiful witch that had placed so much of herself in his hands. He wanted to learn more about himself as well. He was looking forward to this in a way that he hadn’t before, and the feeling was intoxicating.

  
 _Definitely habit forming_ , he thought.

  
By the time he reached the door across from the tapestry of Barnabus, a glance at his watch told him that fifteen minutes had passed, and he decided that should have been plenty of time. She knew the routine by now, and if she’d gotten herself caught up examining the new layout of the Room… well she would just have to learn to curb that curiosity of hers until she didn’t have orders that she was supposed to be following.

  
“Dobby?” he called, and a second later a loud crack echoed down the hall as the little elf appeared in front of him, a tan canvas duffle bag sitting on the floor at his feet.

  
“Master Harry Potter, Sir, calls Dobby! Dobby has brought Master Harry, Sir’s bag for him.”

  
“Thank you, Dobby. Did you have any problems with the Room?”

  
“No Master Harry, Sir. Master requested his Room, Dobby stay so Room stay.”

  
“Good.” Leaning down, Harry grabbed the handles of the bag and lifted it. “Thank you for the help Dobs. You can go back to whatever it is you do around here. I’ll call you if I need anything, okay?”

  
Dobby bowed so low that his ears actually brushed the ground for a moment, then he straightened up and snapped the long fingers of his right hand, vanishing with another ear splitting crack.

  
“I wonder if I can get him to do that a little quieter,” Harry muttered, staring absently for a moment at the spot the elf had just vacated, he shook away the thought and turned to open the door.

  
He stepped from the stone corridor outside onto a plush carpet in a deep red, his trainers sinking into the surface with each step. The stone walls had been replaced with light wood panels, and while the fireplace to his right was slightly smaller, it still held a merrily crackling fire within it. Directly across from him stood a large four poster bed, decked out again in Gryffindor colors. His usual chair stood in the very center of the room, and between it and the fire, Hermione knelt, waiting for him. A low coffee table sat to her left side, between him and the door with a simple tea set resting on it.

  
He was happy to note that there was no movement from her when he came into the room. She was holding her pose perfectly, her eyes on the carpet in front of her.

  
She’s always looking down, he thought, studying her for a moment. It’s like she feels that’s her place, not to look at me unless I say she can.

  
“Look at me, Mine,” he ordered and smiled when she raised her head to meet his eyes. Her cheeks were still flushed, her breasts moving slightly with each breath she took, and she had tied her hair back with a simple elastic tie, he thought. Once again, he was struck by the contrast of the bright green ribbon against the creamy skin of her throat, and he unconsciously shifted slightly to relieve the sudden pressure in his slacks.

  
Walking up to her he leaned down, reaching out with his free hand to cup her chin and tilt her head further back to meet his eyes.

  
“Good girl,” he said softly, giving her a warm smile which she answered with a brilliant grin of her own. Her eyes flickered to the bag in his hand, a clear question in their depths, but she said nothing. He released her chin and turned to move over to the table. Placing the bag on the table, he set about preparing himself. Removing his robes and rolling up his sleeves, all the while maintaining his silence. Finally, he poured himself a cup of tea, carrying it over to sit in his chair facing her.

  
“I’m very proud of you, Mine,” he said after taking a sip of his tea. “Honestly, I expected you to be a bit more… impatient. You remembered all the details, and your pose is perfect.”

  
“Thank you, Sir,” she said, clearly thrilled by the praise.

  
He took another sip of his tea and leaned back, crossing his legs again as he watched her.

  
“Today is going to be… different, Mine,” he finally told her and her head tilted slightly to one side, her eyes studying him curiously.

  
“How so, Sir?”

  
“I…” He trailed off thoughtfully. “I’ve done a lot of thinking over the last few days,” he admitted, “and I’ve come to a few conclusions that I really should have understood sooner, if we’d only talked as we should have been from the beginning, maybe I would have. I didn’t realize at first, just how deep this all went for you. I didn’t realize it wasn’t _just_ a method to try to distract you from your worries. It probably started that way, but somewhere along the line your views changed, didn’t they?”

  
“I’m not entirely sure when, Sir, but yes,” she agreed. “I just… when we were here for my punishment, it really clicked just how much this _is_ who I am.”

  
“Well, I was listening to you the other day, Mine. I realize that the confusion I was dealing with must have caused you no end of difficulty as well. For that, I’m sorry. Today we’re going to move forward though. I’m going to keep in mind how you’ve already said you want to be treated, and I’m going to trust you to speak up if you need to. Do you understand?”

  
“Absolutely, Sir.”

  
He stood and went to place his empty cup on the table, dragging the chair with him before he moved back toward her and pointed at the spot where the chair had been located. “Move here, and turn around so you’re facing the fireplace,” he ordered, giving her a moment to scramble over and return to her pose. While she was doing that, he went over to the table and removed his shoes and socks, placing them to the side before he opened the duffle bag and started digging around inside it.

  
“You were supposed to prepare a list of five things you wanted to try before this session today,” he informed her. “Did you do that, Mine?”

  
“Yes, Sir. But… I don’t have the list with me, Sir.”

  
“That’s fine, this time, since I did surprise you again. But in the future, if I give you an assignment like this, you might want to keep your list handy, just in case. For now, just tell me what it is that you’d decided on.”

While he talked, he pulled a few things from the bag and set them down on the table. A plain black journal, a self-inking quill, and a bundle of cloth that made a dull _thunk_ when it touched the wooden surface.

  
Out of the corner of his eye he saw her flinch slightly at the sound, and did his best to hide a grin as he picked up the journal and the quill and held them loosely in one hand, slowly starting to pace around her as she began to speak.

  
“The first thing I thought of when you ordered me to put together this list, was bondage,” she said quietly.

  
“Why?”

  
The red in her cheeks darkened and she squirmed in place, just slightly before falling still again. “I-I don’t entirely know, Sir. Just… in most of my dreams or fantasies lately, I’ve been restrained in some way. I just feel it’s something I’d like to experience.”

  
He nodded, moving around behind her, continuing to circle her. “What else?”

  
Ten minutes later he stood in front of her, his hands clutching the book behind his back as he studied his Mine.

  
“Bondage, humiliation, pain, anal play, and wax play,” he repeated her list calmly, and she nearly cringed at the matter of fact way he listed off each item.

“Wax…” He shook his head firmly. “No. Not any time soon anyway, that can be dangerous. Why pain and humiliation?”

  
“I said that there wasn’t anything I didn’t think I’d enjoyed, at least a bit, when we were talking after my punishment. I’m… well I’m not certain which aspects of it I really enjoyed, or if it was a combination of things.... I thought that we might be able to find out.”  
Harry considered that for a moment before he nodded, and held the journal out to her, quill tucked within its pages.

  
“Write down your list, and your reasoning for each one,” he told her when she took the book from him, a questioning look in her eyes.

  
“Yes, Sir,” she said, and immediately opened the book, far more comfortable with writing than talking about such personal topics.

  
While she wrote, he thought carefully over the plan he’d come up with, and how he might incorporate some of her list into it. Honestly, he’d noticed her response to humiliation already. The more like property he treated her, the more turned on she seemed to get.

  
Humiliation and embarrassment she obviously responded to. Some of the rest of what he had in mind he was less certain about, but none of it was particularly extreme, so even if she didn’t care for some aspects, they would be able to discuss them later.

  
“It’s interesting that you chose those particular things,” he said after she finished writing and handed the book back to him. “Some of that actually fits rather well into what I wanted to do today.”  
He put the book and quill back in his bag, then unwrapped the cloth bundle. Laying out four items on top of the table, he moved out of the way so Hermione would be able to see them, noting her wide eyed expression with a certain satisfaction as she studied the three stainless steel plugs of varying sizes and the bottle of lube now resting on the table mere feet from her.

  
“We still have a lot to learn about each other, and about ourselves, Mine,” he said, drawing her attention back to him where he’d moved to stand between her and the fireplace. “I intend to test you today. I’m hoping to figure out a little more about you through it.”

  
Her mouth moved silently a few times before she was able to choke out a quiet, “I understand, Sir,” to which he shook his head.

  
“I don’t think you really do,” he disagreed. “But you will.” He backed away from her a few paces and pointed to the carpet in front of him. “I want you to crawl over here, Mine, and then stand,” he ordered and watched as she immediately moved to obey, her face now burning with embarrassment as she crawled across the carpet toward him, breasts swaying with the motion of her body.

  
“If you need to move anywhere else in the room today, you’re to crawl, understood?” he asked once she was standing in front of him, her arms at her sides.

  
“Yes, Sir,” she whispered, nodding her head in short jerks as her body trembled and shook just slightly.  
He grinned at her and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Good girl.” He took another step back, very deliberately looking her up and down for a moment before nodding to himself. “Put your hands behind your head, Mine,” he ordered and nodded again when she immediately complied, lacing her fingers together as she raised her arms and he moved closer to her again holding her eyes with his as he leaned closer to her.

  
“Don’t move,” he told her, a harsh edge to his voice causing her to jump slightly.

  
He moved around her again, letting the tips of his fingers trail across the skin of her stomach and around to her back.

  
“You’ve been very patient, Mine,” he commented casually as he let his fingers move across her skin. “I understand now that you've wanted to increase our level of… physical intimacy. Well, you're going to get your wish today.” He couldn’t help but marvel at how soft her body felt under his touch. He’d been entirely too distracted when he was holding her after their last session to really take in the details that he now couldn’t help noticing.

  
The way her muscles shifted under her skin, twitching as his hands passed over them. Brushing the fine hairs at the nape of her neck caused her to squirm slightly, almost without her will it seemed. Her breath caught in her throat when he palmed the curves of her arse, and a small moan escaped her as her hips shifted, just slightly.

  
“I told you not to move, Mine,” he reminded her sharply.

  
“I’m s-sorry, S-Sir,” she stammered, her breath coming faster the longer he spent exploring her body.

  
Within ten minutes she was trembling constantly, muscles coiling and relaxing as she struggled to remain still. From behind her he reached around her body to cup her breasts and another moan drifted past her lips as his palms slid across her stiff nipples.

  
Abruptly he stepped away from her, and she let out a distressed sounding whine as he went, but she didn’t turn or otherwise move.

  
“Patience, Mine,” he told her, grinning as he made his way over to the table. When he came back to her a minute later, her eyes were closed and she was breathing deeply through her nose, letting each breath out through her mouth.

  
She jumped again when he suddenly placed his left hand flat against her stomach and laid his right forearm across her lower back, just above the curve of her arse. Her eyes snapped open as her head turned to meet his gaze.

  
“Please, Sir,” she whispered.

  
“Please what?” He tilted his head, smirk firmly in place as he let his hand gently stroke her abdomen, moving lower with each pass as another tremor shook her body.

  
“Please. You’re driving me crazy, Sir,” she whined.

  
“That’s my right, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice hardening again. Her eyes slid closed for a moment before they snapped open again as his fingers brushed the soft curls above her cunt.

  
“Yes, Sir!” she blurted out. “Yes, that _is_ your right… oh gods…”

  
Her head fell back as his finger brushed lightly over her clit and a long moan climbed out of her throat. Involuntarily her hips shifted forward, trying to strengthen that contact, but he moved his hand away.

  
“That’s twice, Mine,” he said in a warning tone. “If I have to remind you to hold still again you understand what’ll happen?”

  
She whined again, her arms trembling violently where they were raised, hands still held together behind her head.

  
“I’m sorry, Sir,” she gasped. “I’m sorry, I j-just… I can’t help it.”

  
He said nothing, letting his hand drift between her legs again, slowly gliding through her slick folds as words fell away and unintelligible squeaks and moans poured from her mouth.

  
Slowly, carefully he found her opening and slid one finger deep inside her and she jerked again, her muscles clamping down on his finger.

  
“Oooohh…. fuck!”

  
Harry realized he’d been kidding himself before. The sensation he’d felt when he took control of her before was nothing compared to this. After finally understanding the aspect of himself that enjoyed the control he had over her and accepting that that was perfectly okay… to do this to her, to get her so worked up that prim and proper Hermione Granger actually _cursed_ as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do. He didn’t think he would ever tire of that feeling. Of being the one responsible for coaxing those reactions from her.

  
He moved his finger inside her, pushing it deeper and sliding slowly almost all the way out several times before he moved back to rub a gentle circle around her clit. “Mine,” he whispered.

  
She said nothing, eyes closed, her mouth hanging open, gasping repeatedly as his finger brushed across that tiny bundle of nerves.

  
“Mine,” he said again, louder and with a sharp tone and her eyes snapped open to meet his again.

  
“S-Sir?”

  
“Hold onto me, Mine.”

  
With that, he moved his right arm from where it had been resting against her back the entire time, and let his hand slide down over her arse, gently parting her cheeks.

  
The confused expression on her face snapped into shocked understanding a second before it happened. Her hands separated, arms coming around to wrap around his neck and shoulders, clutching tightly to him as he suddenly shoved the smallest of the plugs that he’d been holding in his right hand since coming back to her into her arse.

  
Her arms tightened, almost painfully, around him and she actually rose up onto her toes in surprise, letting out a full throated _scream_ at the sudden intrusion; a scream of mixed shock, pain, and, he hoped, pleasure.

  
Faster than he'd expected, it was over as her arse swallowed the toy, and that tight ring of muscle was wrapped snugly around the base, nearly three inches of steel buried inside her. The moment it was completely in she dropped back onto her heels, muscles going slack, and Harry wrapped one arm around her waist to help support her.

  
They stood that way, with Hermione clinging to him and her face pressed into his shoulder, while Harry bit back the urge to ask if she was okay. _She knows what to say if she’s too uncomfortable_ , he reminded himself and simply held her, letting her get used to the sudden feeling of the plug. Still, he was more than a little nervous. Shoving a toy up her arse with absolutely no warning was fairly extreme for their experience.

  
“Oh Merlin,” she groaned after a few quiet minutes had ticked by, broken only by the sound of her harsh panting. “That… that feels….” She moved slightly, shifting her weight on her feet and her arms tightened around him as she let out a quiet groan.

“Morgana’s tits… that feels… good,” she breathed out, as if surprised to realize she was actually enjoying the feeling of the plug inside her body.

  
Eventually she loosened her grip and he stood back deliberately adjusting his slacks for a moment. The feeling of her body pressed against him had become entirely too pleasant after his initial concern over her reaction had been relieved.

  
“We’re not done here, Mine,” he reminded her, bringing her attention back to him and she nodded shakily, taking several shuddering breaths.

  
“Yes, Sir.”

  
Casually he stepped closer and reached between her legs again. “I think you're even wetter than you were before,” he commented, smirking as she flushed again and visibly fought not to look away from him. She shifted her stance slightly, moving so her feet were about shoulder width apart, giving him easier access to her cunt, and she bit down on her bottom lip as he slid a finger back inside her.

  
He curled his finger, rubbing against her inner walls and she shuddered again at the feeling. A moment later he pulled his hand back and raised it, casually inspecting how wet his hand was and nodded his head.

  
“Yes, definitely even more wet than before,” he confirmed. “You're practically dripping, Mine.”

  
She flushed brilliantly and mumbled something as he continued to study his hand.

  
“Of course, now you've made a bit of a mess, haven't you, Mine?” he asked raising his hand slightly and she nodded.

  
“I'm sorry, Sir,” she mumbled, blushing furiously.

  
“Nothing to be sorry about. You'll just have to clean it up.” He finally looked away from his hand and caught her eyes, wondering just how she was going to react to what he had in mind next.

  
“Open your mouth.”

  
She blinked in surprise but otherwise failed to respond.

  
“That's three times you've failed to follow an order properly, Mine,” he reminded her with a disappointed sigh. She winced just before his right hand swung up and delivered a firm slap to her left tit, causing her to gasp in surprise and pain. With that opening he reached forward and slid his finger, wet with her juices into her mouth.

  
“Clean it,” he ordered harshly. She instantly set to her task, moaning quietly as she sucked the evidence of her arousal from his finger. She took hold of his hand in both of hers, pulling his finger from her mouth, and proceeded to lick up every bit of moisture her soaked cunt had left on his skin.

  
By the time she finished Harry was _painfully_ hard in his slacks, completely in awe over her reaction. She hadn't shied away for even a moment, and the feeling of her lips and tongue was driving him mad.

  
_I wonder if this is how she feels when I'm teasing her_ , he mused as she finished her task and let go of his hand.

  
It took him a moment to gather himself, but finally he pulled his scattered wits together and moved away from her to retake his seat near the table.

  
“Come here, Mine,” he ordered, indicating a space on the carpet between his feet. “I have another task for you, and a reward if you perform well enough.”

  
For a moment, she lifted her foot, as if to walk over to him, at the last second however, she seemed to remember his order and slowly lowered herself to her knees and began to crawl toward him. It took her longer than it might have otherwise, as she paused frequently, shuddering visibly over the sensations running through her body. Finally, she reached him, sitting back on her heels with her eyes fixed on the bulge in his slacks.

  
Leaning forward he reached out and cupped her chin, tilting her head up toward his face.

  
“Find something interesting?” he asked, a knowing smirk firmly in place on his lips and she flushed again, her eyes moving away for a moment before darting back to his as she licked her lips.

  
“Yes, Sir,” she whimpered quietly.

  
“And what might that be?” he asked, finding that he loved the way she squirmed over the question.

  
“Y-your…. your c-cock, Sir. I’m v-very interested in it,” she said stumbling again over the word. “I’ve wondered for a while now what it looks like... feels like…” she whispered something he couldn’t catch and he frowned.

  
“What was that, Mine?” he asked, a warning tone in his voice.

  
She shuddered again, taking a deep breath before she answered. “I’ve wondered how it would taste,” she said.

  
“Lucky for you, you get to find out. I was so impressed, Mine, by the way you sucked your juices off my fingers like a good little slut, that I decided to let you suck my cock. I’m curious to see if you’ll be as enthusiastic as when you were cleaning up your mess.”

  
He watched her carefully as he spoke, trying to gauge her reaction to his words, and he wasn’t at all disappointed at the visible signs of the pleasure she felt, though there was something about her eyes that told him not all was entirely well.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. She considered it for a moment, her head tilting side to side slightly as she thought.

“I’m… I’m not entirely certain about being called a slut,” she finally admitted. “A slut by definition is a woman that has had many casual partners. I don’t want anyone but you, Sir. I don’t want to do this with anyone else.”

"I’ll leave that alone then, and we’ll discuss it more later.”

“Thank you, Sir… Sir?”

“What is it?”

“May I… may I please kiss you?”

He smiled at the quietly pleading tone in her voice and nodded. “You don’t need to ask to kiss me, Mine. As long as you won’t be interrupting something, I’m more than happy to kiss you.”

With his permission given, she suddenly surged upward, rising as high as she could while remaining on her knees, her hands became tangled in his hair as she pressed her mouth to his. She moaned quietly into his mouth, her tongue slipping past his lips, and he thought he could just detect a hint of her taste on her lips and tongue, a slightly tangy flavor that he honestly couldn’t wait to taste for himself, directly from her.

They kissed for several seconds before he finally took a hold of her hair, where it was tied back behind her head, and gently pulled her away from him. Her eyes opened slowly, and he could clearly see how aroused she was in her gaze.

“I believe I gave you a task, Mine,” he reminded her. She nodded quickly as he let go of her hair and leaned back in his seat. Quickly, her fingers started working at his belt and in moments he was lifting his hips so she could pull his trousers and boxers off. As she pulled them down, his erection sprang back, slapping against his stomach, and she let out a startled gasp, freezing in the middle of her task to simply stare at the hard length in front of her. A moment later he shifted his leg, she jumped, startled out of her daze to finish removing his clothes, leaving him wearing just his uniform shirt.

“I… I’ve never actually done this, Sir,” she said, absently running her hands up his legs which caused him to shudder slightly.

“I’ve never experienced it,” he reminded her. “We’ve plenty of time to learn. For now, as long as you’re careful of your teeth, I’m pretty sure I’m going to enjoy it.”

Nodding, her eyes shifted up to meet his for a moment, before she turned her attention back down, her hands slowly inching forward. When one small hand finally wrapped around him at the base, Harry couldn’t suppress a sharply in drawn breath, which changed into a soft moan, as she started to slowly stroke her hand along his length. Her grip was so gentle that her palm slid easily across his skin, sending pleasurable ripples of sensation through his body.

She leaned forward slowly as a bead of precum gathered at his head, her tongue darting out to lick that heavy drop away with a single, quick swipe of that rough organ. Harry jerked at the touch of her tongue, grabbing the arms of the chair with both hands in a white knuckled grip, as another groan escaped him.

Moving down, she licked him from the base all the way to the tip, humming softly in what seemed like approval as she tasted him. Her eyes moved up to his again, as she resumed stroking him, a small smile turning her lips.

“Better than I dreamed,” she said. Before he could even think to respond, her lips parted and she placed the head of his cock in her mouth, slowly sliding down his length.

_Oh… holy fuck!_

Completely against his will, his eyes slid closed for a moment as half of his length was enveloped within the warm, wet confines of her mouth.

“Oh shit,” he groaned when she started to move back, her tongue and lips sliding along his skin. She paused, looking up to him in concern for a moment.

“You're doing fine,” he gasped out in response to her questioning gaze. “That just feels incredible.”

Later, Harry would think that the memory of her kneeling between his legs, her eyes locked on his, with her lips wrapped around him, was one of his new favorite images.

 

#####

 

 _This_ was the experience she’d been expecting, Hermione felt as she knelt between her Sir’s legs, her mouth filled with his cock, and her arsehole still stinging slightly as the decidedly new, full sensation of the plug inside her drove her to distraction. Sir had shown none of the doubt, none of the insecurities that had plagued him before. With the exception of the one moment where he’d asked what was wrong after calling her a slut. Even then he was simply responding to how she’d reacted, not out of doubt, he’d been completely in control the entire time. He hadn’t once asked her if she was okay with what he was doing, or if she would enjoy something. He simply commanded her. He _told_ her what he was going to do, and what she was to do, and he expected her obedience. He _took_ the control she voluntarily gave to him, and he used it.

When he’d explored her body, she’d felt like fresh clay under his hands, as if he were molding her, shaping her into a wanton, desperate slut- _Oh!_ she thought, her mind, and her body, grinding to a halt for a moment. _Oh,_ that’s _a different thought…_

She carefully set that thought aside, resolving to come back to it when they talked later as the turgid member between her lips suddenly twitched, drawing her attention back to her task, and she started moving again. With one hand she stroked him, following her mouth up until just the swollen head remained between her lips, and she swiped her tongue across the tip, catching the taste of more of his precum, as well as drawing another hissing breath from him, before she plunged down, taking half of his length back into her mouth.

She shifted closer, trying to take in more of him, and a sudden jolt of pleasure ran up her spine from the plug in her arse. Her eyelids fluttered slightly. A low moan echoing the sensation, vibrated into the back of her throat. The feeling had her thinking over her brief trip, crawling across the Room to him, and she couldn't help but marvel, just a bit, at how he had turned such a simple task as crawling, into a deliciously arduous endeavor. Every time she moved her hips, the plug shifted inside her, sending new ripples of pleasure radiating outward from her arse, forcing her to pause frequently due to the intensity of those feelings.

As she knelt there, squirming a bit as she pleasured him, listening to the quiet, sexy moans and gasping breaths that escaped his mouth, she felt… powerful. Not in the way she imagined he felt when he gave her an order, she didn’t feel as if she were controlling this situation, as much as it was her, and her actions, that drew those wonderful reactions from him.

To her, it was just another aspect of her submission to him. She might have been the one causing him such pleasure with her hand and her mouth, but it was at _his_ direction that she did so. Her awareness had narrowed to encompass only a few simple things, mostly confined to the input her brain was receiving from her physical senses.

Taste was prominent. His skin against her tongue and those beads of fluid that she would find every few upward bobs of her head combined to form a uniquely pleasant flavor that her extensive vocabulary utterly failed to adequately describe.

Her nose was filled with the scent of him, similar to that calming scent that she so loved when she would press her face into his neck and simply breathe him in. This however was… deeper, richer, mingled with the soap from his shower that morning.

Her tits brushed against his legs as she moved, adding to the overwhelming stimulus affecting her, even as she watched his face twisting with pleasure at what she was doing to him, and every sound that she coaxed from him filled her ears; seeming to blot out the rest of the world.

She had no idea how long she spent licking and sucking his cock. Eventually however, Sir’s voice changed. Mostly wordless sounds were replaced by a short, shaky sentence, uttered in a strained sounding tone. “M-Mine, I'm gonna… ffffuck!”

  
She realized that his legs were trembling, almost violently, hips shifting slightly, pushing his cock deeper into her mouth on each downward stroke. Reaching up she took hold of his hands and pulled, placing them against her head. She couldn't help a small mental cry of success, overwhelmed completely by a feeling of utter bliss as his grip tightened in her hair, holding her head still, even as his hips jerked several more times, literally fucking her mouth to his completion.

He let out a long, strangled groan, every muscle in his body seeming to stiffen as something hot and thick splashed across her tongue. Sir came in her mouth, his cock pulsing several times, each pulse blasting more of his cum to coat her the inside of her mouth. She held it there, carefully analyzing the taste in her usual manner. Salty, slightly sweet, with a bitter aftertaste.

 _I could get used to that,_ she thought as she finally swallowed, doing so without really being aware of it, until after the action was completed. When her mind finally caught up to her bodies actions, she couldn't hold back another moan around the cock that still filled her mouth. She'd never before considered actually letting someone cum in her mouth, always viewing the idea as slutty and disgusting, but with her Sir... it simply felt right. If her Sir decided he wanted to feed her a load of his cum every day, she realized she would happily accept it, because he was her Sir, she was his to use, and her own actions simply reinforced for her the nature of their relationship and further inflamed her desire for him.

More than almost anything, in that moment, Hermione wanted to simply stay where she was, holding her Sir’s gradually softening cock in her mouth. Instead, she slowly backed off of him, however reluctantly, and swiped her tongue across his tip one last time, just to make absolutely certain that she hadn't missed a single drop.

“Holy fuck, Mine,” Sir gasped. She looked up proudly, smiling at him and the sweaty and dazed expression on his face. He was breathing hard, his entire body shaking now and then as a tremor would pass through his muscles and looking at her in something akin to awe. “That was absolutely incredible,” he finally managed to say when his breathing began to calm and he was able to sit up more in his seat.

“For me too, Sir,” she whispered shyly, sure that she was literally dripping down her thighs at this point. “I really enjoyed pleasing you.”

“It’s your turn now,” he informed her a moment later. “You’ve been pretty patient, Mine, and I did promise you a reward.” He gestured toward the bed against the far wall with one hand, “Go lay down.”

Nodding, she turned and started crawling toward the bed, well aware that he was likely watching the bright red gem on the end of the plug that would be visible between her cheeks. That mental image struck her and she could only think that the entire picture was lewd in the extreme. The fact that it was _her_ behaving in such a manner… no, she’d never been a prude, but she had held some fairly conservative ideas regarding sex before reading the books she’d received.

Her eyes had been opened to an entire world of potential pleasures, things she would definitely have missed out on if she hadn’t come into the understanding of her submissive side. She'd decided early on to put aside those views, choosing to experience as much as possible, at least once before making a decision.

She finally reached the bed and stood to climb into it. At first she wasn’t sure exactly how she was supposed to lay down, Sir hadn’t given her any specific instructions, so she decided to simply stretch out on her back, and took a deep, relaxing breath as her body sank into the soft mattress. She hadn’t really noticed how sore and tired her shoulders were from keeping her hands behind her head, nor had she realized how tired her body was. The constant pace of arousal, surprise, and the tension of waiting for, and responding to, orders was taking a toll on her.

She wouldn’t exchange what she had with her Sir for anything in the world, but she did have to admit that sessions like today’s would likely have to be somewhat infrequent. At least until she built up her endurance a bit more. She was going to be sore tomorrow.

Her head turned when she felt the mattress shift to find him climbing into the bed. He’d pulled his trousers back on and he sat beside her, one leg hanging off of the edge of the bed and the other curled up in front of him, as he reached over to gently stroke her cheek. She couldn’t help but lean her head toward his hand, sighing contentedly.

“You’ve done very well today, Mine,” he said, smiling gently. “I’ve intentionally pushed you. Not too hard, but I certainly set out to push, to see how you’d react, and I’m very proud of you. You surprised me several times too.”

 _Merlin, I don’t understand how he does this to me,_ she thought as tears filled her eyes. She was suddenly so thrilled, so completely elated at the thought of pleasing him, of him being proud of her, that she was completely overcome by her emotions.

“Right now, I want you to just lie there and enjoy yourself, understood?”

She nodded. “Yes, Sir,” she promised in a quiet whisper just before he leaned down to kiss her forehead again, then he moved to her lips. For a moment she almost turned her head. She had had a mouthful of his cum not long ago, and was certain she needed to brush her teeth, but he seemed unconcerned by the thought, so she eagerly responded to his kiss, humming quietly against his lips as his hands began to glide across her body again.

She sighed happily, her eyes falling closed again as his lips moved down her neck and across her chest, slowly working along the swell over her breasts. Thus far, he’d only ever kissed her mouth or her forehead, occasionally he’d gently kiss her neck. Now, with his mouth moving across her body, she couldn’t help but squirm on the bed as his tongue darted out to taste her skin. Her back arched when he reached her left nipple, flicking the hard nub with the tip of his tongue to send a jolt of pleasure through her body. That action ground her hips and arse into the mattress, and she groaned as the plug pressed harder into her.

He was gentle with her, his hands and mouth caressed her skin with feather light touches, moving ever lower on her body, until she suddenly felt him move away for a moment. The shifting of the mattress beneath her told her he hadn’t left the bed, and she jumped when she suddenly felt his hands on her knees.

“Open, Mine,” he said in a quiet murmur, and without even pausing to think she complied, spreading her legs to give him access to her. She lifted her knees, placing her feet wide and flat on the comforter, so she was completely exposed to him, feeling not even a hint of embarrassment. There was nothing but a thrill of pleasure, both emotional, and physical, that spread its way through her. A warm, flushed sensation that was as intoxicating as it was maddeningly arousing.

The bed shifted again, and she finally opened her eyes, looking down the length of her body as he positioned himself between her spread legs, placing gentle kisses along her inner thighs. Resting on his elbows, he inched his way forward, her breath hitching more and more in her throat the closer he came to her cunt. She knew the end goal. Knew what he was planning, and she was practically breathless with anticipation, waiting for that moment.

When it finally came, her eyes literally rolled back in her head and her head fell back, a loud groan escaping her as he used his thumbs to gently spread her folds, then his tongue suddenly swiped up the length of her slit, her muscles jerked again when the tip of his tongue flicked her clit at the end of that single upward stroke.

“Oh my fucking god,” she moaned, muscles clenching tightly. In some dim way she knew this wasn’t going to take very long. She hadn’t cum yet, though she’d been close, just before he’d shoved the plug inside her. The suddenness of that painful intrusion had distracted her from how close she’d been and since then she’d had only indirect stimulation of her body. Just enough to keep her body humming with her arousal, but not enough to push her toward anything.

“You taste wonderful,” she heard, and felt his breath brushing against her wet folds as he spoke. _That_ caused her to blush, embarrassed and thrilled at what he was saying. She opened her mouth to thank him, but the words fell away into yet another long, pleasured moan as his mouth returned to her cunt and she could only focus on what he was doing to her.

 

#####

 

Harry was pleased to learn that he’d been right. When Hermione had kissed him earlier, the taste he’d registered on her tongue _had_ been the lingering traces of her. Slightly bitter, but with that sharp tang that he’d noticed before. She did taste wonderful, and he took his time, savoring that natural flavor that was all her.

Harry was aware enough to understand that the differences between men and women were more than just appearance and some differences in biology. At his age sex was a relatively new thought, but he’d made certain to look into a few things and knew that for her, pleasing her properly wasn’t nearly as simple as it could be for him. Her body was a more complex design, and he carefully explored her, determined to leave her a quivering mess by the time he finished.

He used the tip of his tongue to tease her, mixing in broad strokes with the flat, and even sucked at her skin, moving around slowly and paying careful attention to how she reacted to each thing that he did. He had no illusions that he’d be some sort of natural at this, but he counted on her inexperience, and his willingness to experiment and test to find the best way he could to make her feel just as amazing as she’d done for him.

“...gers…”

He glanced up, keeping his mouth on her for a moment as her voice reached him before he lifted his head slightly. “What was that, Mine?”

“Please, Sir,” she begged louder. “Use your fingers? Please?”

He said nothing, merely returned to working his tongue in small circles around her clit, and slowly worked one of his fingers into her sopping entrance. As soon as his finger slid as deep into her body as he could reach, she let out a long moaning sigh.

“Oh, that’s amazing,” she whispered between soft moans and gasping breaths. He started working his finger in and out of her, twisting his hand back and forth to stroke her inner walls as her moans grew louder, and when he sealed his lips over her clit, sucking gently at it, her entire body bucked violently, almost dislodging him.

A stream of barely intelligible curses flew from her mouth and he grinned, adding a second finger. That was a much tighter fit, and he worked carefully, unwilling to hurt her at all here if he could help it. He was determined she would end this session with absolutely nothing but pleasure flowing through her.

Eventually he got both fingers inside her, and he flicked her clit with his tongue as he scisored them back and forth, causing another violent bucking of her hips, her back arching again as she let out a sharp cry.

“Please, Sir!” she cried, the comforter clutched in her fists as she writhed on the bed. “Oh god… I’m almost… please, please, please… may I cum, Sir? Please?”

She devolved into a stream of pleading words, her legs trembling, muscles in her abdomen clenching and relaxing. Wrapping his left arm under her thigh, he reached around her leg, placing his hand flat above her cunt and found her clit with his thumb. Pulling his fingers out of her, he replaced them his tongue, wriggling his way into her body as she gave another sharp cry, he reached under her, carefully grasping the base of the plug in her arse, and twisted it.

Her entire body tensed again, muscles going rigid as she let out a wordless scream, and he could actually feel her cunt clamping down around his tongue as she came. He kept rubbing her clit with his thumb, gently turning the plug back and forth with his other hand, as she shook and moaned for what seemed like several minutes to him, though he doubted it actually lasted that long.

When she suddenly went slack, her body relaxing, he let go of the plug and moved his hand away, gently running his tongue along her slit to gather a last taste of her juices, causing her to let out a pained sounding moan.

“Oh gods,” she gasped out. “I can’t… no more…please, Sir....” she trailed off into quiet muttering that he couldn’t make out. He could only grin, rather pleased with himself, as he sat up and took in the sight of her.

The hair tie she’d used had either fallen out from her moving around, or broken, as her long, curly hair was free and splayed out across the pillow under her head. Her blush actually covered the upper slope of her breasts, which shook with each gasping breath she took, even as tremors still ran through her body. She was a sweaty, disheveled mess, her hair sticking to her forehead and her neck, and he thought she was breathtakingly sexy in that moment.

Her eyes opened half way as he moved up to lie down beside her, pulling her into his arms as she turned toward him, and laying her head on his chest, her left leg came up to drape over his. He let out a groan when she suddenly reached for his hand, pulling it to her mouth to lick and suck her mess from his fingers and hand again. When she finished, she let go and simply wrapped her arm around his chest, holding tightly to him as her breathing slowly started to return to normal.

Harry just laid there, holding her and thinking over everything, and what he intended to do next, hoping she’d be up to it.

After a few minutes she moved, her body sliding sensuously against his as she pushed herself a little further up the bed so her head was on his shoulder. He felt her lips tickle his neck as she pressed several light kisses against his skin.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and he was struck by the sheer gratitude in her tone. It was almost frightening, the apparent intensity of what she was feeling, and he pulled her closer, his arms tightening around her body. “ _That_ was perfect.”

Perfect.

The word didn't entirely fit Harry's estimation of events, but it was definitely close. He'd set out to push her, all as a means to gauge the plan he’d come up with for her, and she had responded beyond his hopes. Her response to being humiliated and degraded had been somewhat startling, but worked perfectly for what he had in mind.

He held her, absently stroking her back as he let his mind wander over his plan, and what needed to happen next, giving her time to recover some from her experience before they moved on.

He suddenly jumped when he felt a touch against his cheek, and turned his attention to her. She was looking up at him from his shoulder, one hand on his cheek and a questioning look in her eyes.

“You're thinking, Sir, “ she whispered causing him to crack a grin.

“Isn't that a good thing? I'm pretty sure you've said before that I don't think enough.”

“It isn't that you don't think. It's that, more often than not, you run into danger without thinking up a solid plan, Sir.”

He shrugged his free shoulder, unable to really argue her point. “I guess it comes with doing better in my classes, and with this,” he added with a wave of one hand to encompass the Room around them. “I need to plan ahead here, so I guess I'm learning some better habits?”

She hummed a quiet agreement, her eyes closing as she squirmed her way even closer to him.

“We need to discuss today's events, don't we?” she murmured a few minutes later.

“I was just letting you rest a bit,” he responded, glancing at his watch. “Though we should probably get on it soon, if we want to make it to lunch on time. We've got a couple of hours, but I have something else planned that we'll need to discuss.”

Her eyes opened, studying him intently for a moment. “I think I’m rested, enough, Sir,” she said, pushing herself up so she was sitting with her back to the headboard.

Harry sat up as well. Reaching for a pitcher of water on the nightstand on his side of the bed, he poured two glasses, handing one to her with a firm order to make sure she drank the whole thing.

“Alright,” he said, taking a moment to organize his thoughts. “Well, I’m fairly certain you enjoyed pretty much everything that happened, so we can discuss those in a little more detail later. For now I wanted to go over anything you didn’t care for. The only thing I noticed for sure was calling you ‘slut’. Care to elaborate?”

She nodded lowering her glass. “Yes, Sir. It wasn’t so much that I _didn’t_ like it. I did, to a point. I just… it was the connotation that I would do this with anyone other than you that I didn’t care for.”

He sat back, watching her as her face settled into the familiar expression it took on whenever she was thinking carefully over something. He’d seen it often enough to know not to interrupt her thought process, simply sipping at his own water while she prepared her thoughts.

“Several times… well I _thought_ of myself as a slut, or that I was behaving like one, or what I’d just done was something I’d have viewed as slutty, before all of this, if that makes any sense,” she muttered absently.

He nodded, but said nothing.

“I think that… I think I’d prefer being called _your_ slut, as opposed to just _a_ slut,” she finally admitted, flushing brightly again.

He considered that carefully, turning over the differences in the connotations in his head, before he looked up to meet her eyes, smirk firmly in place on his lips again. “So you’re _my_ personal slut, then?” he asked, teasingly and she lowered her eyes to the comforter, her cheeks darkening even further.

“I’m always yours, Sir,” she whispered.

Harry reached out and tilted her head up with one hand under her chin. “You understand that I’m just as much yours, don’t you, Mine?” he asked very carefully. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it in some way.”

She nodded, smiling softly at him. “I know, Sir.”

He leaned forward and kissed her, holding her still by his grip on her chin.

“All right,” he said once he pulled away, letting go of her chin, “Unless you have anything else you wanted to bring up, I think we can move on?”

She shook her head after thinking it over for a moment. “Other than discussing how frequent sessions like this will be… no, Sir. The slut comment was the only thing I had any issue with. Even when you surprised me with the plug… that was absolutely perfect.”

“What's that about the frequency then?”

“I just think ones this intense can’t be too frequent, Sir. At least until I can build up my endurance a bit. My shoulders and body are sore and tired.”

Harry opened his mouth to apologize, but managed to stop himself. She didn't look or sound upset at all, and she knew how to stop things if it got to be too much. He reminded himself of those two facts, and simply nodded instead.

“Any thoughts on a good time in between them then?” he asked.

“I would think one a week would be plenty of time,” she replied almost immediately.

“That sounds fine to me,” he agreed. Putting down his now empty glass, he climbed out of the bed and went over to his duffle bag where it still sat on the table across the room, coming back with the journal in hand.

“I had Dobby get this from a specialty store in Knockturn Alley,” he explained as he sat down with her again.

“Keeping track of some things could be important, but the way we have been so far has a slight risk of other people finding out, if someone ever finds our contract or notes. However, this book can be keyed so that only you or I can read it by each of us adding a drop of blood to the inside cover.”

Hermione started at that, almost flinching for a moment as her eyes widened. “The Ministry is very much against any blood related magic,” she pointed out, nervously.

“True. But why? Yes, many blood rituals are dark and dangerous, from what I understand. But something like this?” He held up the journal. “Personally I think they just don't like things that they can't control, so the Ministry tries to make things illegal as a way to try to control people. I'm not going to order you to add your blood, Mine. But I would like you to really think about it before you say no.”

Frowning pensively, she did just that, considering what he'd said and what little she knew about the Ministry and wizarding society. It all fit perfectly, she realized, and after really giving it some honest consideration, she couldn't argue that it wouldn't be much more secure than how they were currently doing things.

“The goblins tie clients to their vaults using blood,” she pointed out thoughtfully. “And just about everyone agrees that it's some of the best security possible.”

He nodded again.

After another minute of careful thought she sat up, squaring her shoulders determinedly and held out one hand for the book. “Did you have something we can use to draw the blood?” she asked.

“There's a pin that slips into the spine of the book,” he explained, smiling proudly at her. “That specific pin has to be used. Just adding a drop of blood isn't enough by itself. After we both add ours, we can destroy the pin so no one else can be added, or we can hold onto it in case we ever decide to add another person, so they can read it.”

Hermione couldn't stop a frightened shiver at that, staring at the book in her hand.

“Did you… were you thinking of that, Sir? Of… of bringing another person into this… at some point?” she asked hesitantly.

Harry blinked, confused for a moment before he really considered _what_ he'd said. “No!” he suddenly blurted out. “No, Mine, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that at all. That's just how it was explained to me. It's possible to add others so they can read it, even after we bind it to us, but I'm not looking to actually do that at all.”

By the time he finished, he was nearly as red as she had ever managed to turn, and had his eyes firmly on the book, not looking directly at her. She couldn't help a small smile at his reaction, after her own worry abated. His new confidence was attractive, but it was nice to see that he was still just Harry Potter, her best friend beneath it all.

She checked and quickly found the pin inserted into the book’s spine. It was a matter of a few seconds for her to prick one index finger, drawing a drop of blood, which she pressed into the inside cover of the book. There was a brief glow around the item itself before it faded and she turned her attention back to Harry, reaching out one hand for him.

“Sir?” she prompted, and he silently offered his hand, watching as she jabbed the pin into his finger and then he added his blood next to hers. Once the book finished glowing a second time, she closed it and set it on the bed between them, but kept the pin, turning it over idly in her hands for several moments.

“We should probably hold onto this,” she finally said. “Not that I want to add anyone to that book, but you never know, in the future there might be a reason that we need to be able to let someone read it.”

“Let’s keep them separate then. If someone just found the book, and the pin was there, they might be able to add themselves without us knowing about it. Do you have someplace where you could keep it?”

“I can think of a few spots. I’ve got a small jewelry box at home, I could leave it there this summer,” she said, twirling the pin between her fingers for a moment. He shrugged, lacking a better option, so he decided to move on and they could readdress that issue if needed.

He cleared his throat and gestured to the book. “Well, just a couple more things and we should get moving,” he muttered, trying to shake of his embarrassment from his poor explanation. “First. I want you to write down everything from today. Which elements were introduced, or used, how you felt about them, and so on.”

She nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Second. Earlier… do you realized you asked my permission if you could cum, Mine?” he asked, curious to know if she’d even really been aware of what she was saying at the time, and was pleased when she flushed again, lowering her eyes back to the bed.

“Yes… I remember asking, Sir,”

“Do you remember if I actually _gave_ you permission after you asked?”

Her head snapped up at that, wide eyed and anxious. Her mouth opened and closed a few times but he kept talking, almost as if thinking out loud, before she had a chance to actually say anything. “Of course, I’d never actually said that you had to ask for my permission,” he mused thoughtfully, leaning back against the headboard with his arms crossed over his chest. “Once you did ask though… well, it seems only fitting that you should actually receive permission first.”

“I-I’m… I don’t know what to say, Sir,” she stammered looking completely flummoxed.

“Well, since there’s obviously some confusion on this particular issue, let’s simplify things. How does that sound to you, Mine?”

Now she appeared far more cautious, something he was sure was a result of the smirk he was directing at her again, as she cautiously offered, “what did you have in mind, Sir?”

“Ah, that’s not what I asked you,” he gently admonished her, letting his expression become more stern. “I asked how that sounded to you, and I would prefer it if you answered a question when asked, Mine.”

“I’m sorry, Sir. I… I guess that sounds good to me.”

“You guess? Do you not know?”

She winced and gathered herself, sitting up straight on the bed to look at him. “That sounds fine to me, Sir,” she managed to get out in a much calmer tone. “Simplifying something confusing is frequently a good step.”

“Excellent!” Harry clapped his hands together once, loudly, and practically bounced out of the bed. “Come here, Mine,” he ordered, pointing to her usual place by the fire. “And you can walk from there, no need to crawl right now,” he added as she slid out of the bed.

While she got into position, he packed away his duffle bag, wrapping up the two remaining plugs in the cloth they’d originally been in. Closing the bag, he set the journal down on the table and turned to face her.

“To make things simple, from now on if you want to cum, you will need to ask for my permission, _and_ wait for me to actually give it, before you are allowed to. Do you understand, Mine?”

“Yes, Sir,” she murmured shamefully.

“That includes masturbating. If you feel like you want to get yourself off some night, you will still need to ask me first.”

She actually cringed at that, but nodded her head. “I understand, Sir.”

He looked around the room for a moment, checking to make sure he’d packed away everything that he needed to, before turning his attention back to her.

“I’m sure you’re wondering about removing that plug in your arse by now, aren’t you, Mine?”

“The… the idea had occurred to me, Sir,” she admitted. “It… it really does feel good, but if we’re leaving soon…”

“I said earlier that I intended to test you,” he pointed out to her, as he leaned down and picked up the bottle of lube off of the table. Moving closer he held out the bottle which she took, a confused look in her eyes. “This is what I meant by that. I want you to keep that plug right where it is, Mine. Until I say so, it doesn’t come out, unless you need to use the loo. In that case you have permission to remove it, however you are to clean it and put it back each time. If I feel you’re abusing this privilege in any way, you’ll have to come to me and request that I remove it for you. Do you understand?”

His explanation given, Harry watched her as the information fully settled in, her face going through a number of rapid changes in expression. Shock, disgust, and others he couldn't quite place a name to.

 _This is where she might have the most trouble,_ he mused as he waited for her answer. _It's not entirely necessary for my plan, but it'll certainly help if she can do it._

  
He waited another minute as her expression turned contemplative, her eyes fixed on the bottle in her hand. Finally, her fingers closed around it, and she moved her arms behind her back, resuming her pose as she lifted her eyes to his.

“I understand, Sir.”

 _Damn! This woman,_ he thought, grinning proudly at her. He moved over and leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead, before looking into her eyes and saying, “Good Girl.”

 


	10. Conversations and Maps

When Hermione woke on Sunday morning it was to the realization that her estimations had been correct. She _was_ sore. Mostly in her shoulders, but her legs and the muscles in her abdomen held a dull ache as well. All in all, she had to admit that it felt fucking fantastic. Not so much that her body ached, but more _why_ her body ached. She likened it to what she’d heard some athletes say, that the soreness in their muscles from a good workout reminded them that they’d accomplished something, they’d worked hard and pushed themselves, and the soreness was the result of the effort they’d put in.

  
The day before she’d been pushed, emotionally and physically, and she found she’d responded favorably to nearly everything she’d experienced in a way she’d never imagined possible before. A broad grin broke out on her face as she stretched languidly in her bed. She relaxed there for a moment longer, letting her mind come fully awake and alert before starting her day.

  
Just before opening her bed curtains, she pulled a bathrobe over her t-shirt in order to hide the fact that she was still diligently following her orders. She wore no knickers to bed, a sensation she’d found unusual at first, but thrilling and pleasing at the same time. The robe was just in case one of her dorm mates happened to wake up early. She checked the pocket of her robe for the bottle of lube, then carefully opened her curtains and looked out into the dorm.

  
All was quiet, and all of the other bed curtains were pulled shut. As quickly as she could, she got out of bed, gathered together her towel and her bathing supplies, and slipped into the bathroom.

  
_Gods, I’m already getting wet,_ she thought as she leaned against the closed door, her breathing noticeably heavy. Her quick walk across the dorm had set the plug shifting inside her, the still new sensations sending pleasurable tingles through her body. She took a moment to collect herself before she was faced with a small conundrum. She needed to use the loo, which meant the plug had to come out. Not a problem in and of itself, but Sir had ordered that when she was finished she was to clean it and put it back. If she left it out while she showered… would that violate her order?

  
_It would be better to shower without it,_ she thought, chewing idly on her bottom lip as she considered the situation. _I’ll tell Sir about it later, and let him decide if that violates my order._ The idea of _not_ telling Harry never even occurred to her as she started gingerly across the room toward one of the stalls, nor did she realize that she’d thought of him as ‘Sir’ and not ‘Harry’.

  
Inside the stall, with the door locked, her bathrobe hung on the hook on the back of the door and her supplies sitting on the back of the tank, she lowered the lid over the toilet and bent forward at the waist, placing her left hand down on the closed lid. Biting her lip again she reached back with her right hand, carefully grasping the base of the plug.

  
The day before she’d needed to remove the plug once, and had promptly put it back after cleaning it, as ordered. Overnight, the majority of the lube she’d used had dried, or been absorbed by her body, so she started by gently twisting the plug back and forth, making sure it wasn’t stuck, and she was forced to clamp down on a small moan as the length of steel inside her body moved around. Once she was certain that it was loose, she started to pull, a soft whimper escaping her as the tight ring of her anus stretched over the smooth metal.

  
She took several deep breaths in order to collect herself after it popped out, quickly wrapping it in some toilet paper, before she tucked the plug into the pocket of her bathrobe. After completing her business, she put her robe back on and quickly carried her things over to one of the showers, wasting no time in cleaning herself thoroughly. As she worked, surprisingly, she realized that she already missed the sensation of having the plug inside her. It was the smallest of the three she’d been shown, but with her inexperience, she felt full in a way she’d never known before with it in.

  
Shower finished, she used her towel to dry her body, dried her hair with her wand, and slipped her robe back on, before setting about cleaning her plug with a combination of a cleaning charm followed by warm water and soap. Deciding to go with comfort for her next task, five minutes later found her lying on her side, behind her bed curtains, as she reached back to push the well lubricated plug back into her body. It was a longer process than taking it out had been, as her body wanted to tense in anticipation even as she tried to relax her muscles as much as possible.

  
After several long minutes the plug was fully inserted and she quickly dressed. A part of her wanted to pull on a pair of her jeans, but she wasn’t certain if the plug would be visible pressing against the fabric, so she went with a loose skirt and blouse, and pulled a set of her class robes over the whole ensemble.

Looking around, she gathered her bag and tucked the bottle of lube into the inside pocket of her robes, nodding her head in satisfaction that she had everything she needed, before she slung the bag over one shoulder and started her way downstairs, leaving the rest of her dorm mates still snoozing away their Sunday.

  
By the time she entered the Common Room at a quarter past seven, she was unsurprised to find Harry sitting on their sofa, several sheets of parchment spread out on the coffee table in front of him. She _was_ surprised, when she got closer, to realize that he wasn’t looking over class notes or assignments.

  
“What’s all this?” she asked curiously as she leaned on the back of the couch, looking over his shoulder at the mystery parchments. They appeared to be covered with columns of sums and figures, along with numerous symbols that she didn’t immediately recognize at a glance.

  
“Morning,” he said, leaning back and turning to look at her with a small smile curving his lips. She answered his smile with one of her own, leaning closer to give him a quick kiss before she pulled away.

  
“Morning. What’s all this?” she asked again gesturing to the parchment.

  
He snorted out a laugh and shook his head, leaning forward to scoop everything together into a single stack that he placed into a black leather bound folder. “This is the vault and account statements from Gringotts that I asked Dobby to pick up for me the other day, remember?”

  
She nodded, her eyes lighting with a new curiosity as she eyed the folder.

  
“Problem is I don’t really know how to make heads or tails of it so I was kind of hoping you might help me look through it,” he informed her, a hopeful note in his voice.

  
Her instinctive reaction was to immediately agree, anything to help Harry, but immediately on the heels of that initial instinct, a second thought occurred causing her to hesitate, pensively chewing on her bottom lip without thinking.

  
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asked a moment later, causing Harry to blink in confusion.

  
“Why wouldn’t it be? You’re smarter than I am, and I trust you completely. There’s no one else I would want to help me.”

  
“That’s sweet, Harry,” she muttered, smiling again, “but really… from what we got out of Neville, it sounds like the Potter’s might have been fairly well off…”

  
“What’s that got to do with anything?” he asked, his confusion growing as she squirmed a bit uncomfortably.

  
“Well… we’re dating,” she pointed out.

  
“Yeah, so?”

  
Hermione sighed and moved around to carefully sit next to her boyfriend.

  
“Have you considered the future much?” she asked.  
Harry’s brow furrowed into a deep frown, and he turned on the sofa so that he was facing her more directly.

  
“How do you mean?”

  
She took a deep breath and reached out to take one of his hands in hers. “Ooookay… not exactly when I thought a conversation like this might come up,” she muttered nervously.

  
“That’s not exactly filling me with confidence, Hermione,” he pointed out.

  
She smiled in as reassuring a manner as she could, “It’s not exactly a bad thing… it’s just a topic that tends to send most males running for the hills. At our ages… well it seems like a silly discussion to have to most people.”

  
“We’re not most people,” he pointed out, “Aside from the whole witch and wizard thing, we’ve been through a lot just in the last two years. What most people deal with is completely different than what we’ve been through, so just explain this to me?”

  
She nodded, accepting his point, before slowly gathering her thoughts. “Us,” she said. “Our relationship. Have you thought at all about the future as far as we’re concerned?”

  
Harry's frown only deepened.

  
“I mean us being together, our relationship years from now… maybe being married one day? Most people don't marry their first boyfriend or girlfriend, and if I help you look through that,” she gestured to the folder on the table with her free hand, “people are going to assume that it has something to do with us being together.”

  
He considered that for a moment before speaking. “You mean people might assume you're trying to be close to me because of my family’s money?” he asked.

  
“Yes! Exactly... especially with my being muggleborn. I'd bet just about anything that some people will assume I'm trying to ‘marry above my station’, especially since you apparently have a Lordship coming to you as well.”

  
“Are you?” he asked, “Was that thought ever a part of your motivations to be with me?”

  
Hermione jerked as if he'd just slapped her, “Absolutely not!” she burst out vehemently, “I want to be with you because I know you, and I like you, and trust you. You, not the Boy-Who-Lived, or Lord Potter, or anything else. I don't care about your money, or your fame, or-"

  
Reaching out, Harry placed two fingers over her lips before she could really get into her rant, smiling softly at her, “And that's why I have no concerns about you knowing what I have,” he told her. “With just about anyone else, I'd be worried about _why_ they wanted to go out with me. But not you. I know you'd never do that. I don't care what other people think. Let them think whatever they want. The only thing that matters is what you think, and what I think. Right?”

  
“And what if things with us get more serious?”

  
“More serious than contracts and what we've been doing?” he asked, smirking slightly.

  
She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean, Harry,” she muttered.

  
He leaned back, letting out a long sigh. “Yeah, I know. I honestly haven't given it a lot of thought, really. Marriage… that's not something I’ve ever considered. You’re right, I'm too young to get married... and so are you,” He shrugged, “Right now all I know is I'm enjoying being with you, and I can't think of us not being together in the future. But as far as defining that in concrete terms… I don't have much of a clue really.”

  
Most girls might be disappointed to have their boyfriend not express their undying love during such a conversation. Hermione Granger, however, was not most girls as Harry had already pointed out in his own way. She knew that she felt something for him beyond anything she'd ever felt before… whether that feeling was love… the kind that could lead to a long and meaningful relationship, was completely unknown at that point in time.

  
“Personally, I still say screw what anybody else thinks or says,” he continued. “We don't owe anyone an explanation or anything else. I trust you as my best friend, and as so much more than that, and that's the only relevant opinion we need.”

  
She was smiling again as he finished speaking, she pulled him into a tight hug, wrapping her arms around his shoulders even as she buried her face against his neck, “All right. In that case I'd be happy to help if I can.”

  
“Thank Merlin,” he groaned, “I'm pretty certain this whole thing would likely give me the mother of all migraines if I tried to figure it out on my own.”

  
She couldn't help a small giggle at the irritated look on his face as he glared at the folder as if it'd personally insulted him.

  
“Well, come on then,” she said, “Let's go eat and then we can look it over."

  
“Why not just look it over now?” he asked, even as he let her pull him to his feet.

  
“First, I'm hungry. And second… do you _really_ want to be sitting where Ronald could come by and question what we’re doing? You know how sensitive he gets about money.”

  
He scowled at that, absently tucking the folder into his robes. “Good point,” he muttered in a low tone, somewhere between angry and despondent.

  
Hermione cast about mentally, searching for something she could use to distract him from those thoughts, she looped her arm through his and started toward the exit, pulling him gently along with her as she leaned closer to him. “I do actually have something that I need to tell you, Sir,” she murmured quietly his ear. Pulling back, she noted him looking at her out of the corner of his eye, one brow arched questioningly.

  
“What’s that?” he asked after they were far enough away from the portrait of the Fat Lady that the painting wouldn’t be able to hear.

  
Quickly, she explained about leaving her plug out while taking her morning shower, and her reasoning behind it as they walked. She made sure to keep her voice low so that the various portraits they passed wouldn’t be able to hear her, and finished while they were still barely halfway to the Great Hall. He spent the rest of the walk thinking, though he patted her hand where it rested in the crook of his elbow in a reassuring way, she assumed, to let her know that he wasn’t upset with her decision or actions.

  
By the time they were seated at the Gryffindor table, with breakfast sitting in front of them on their plates, he finally turned to her, “I can’t find anything wrong with what you decided to do, except for _maybe_ asking permission from me before doing it. Obviously you won’t always be able to ask about any little thing that pops up, like that, so let’s just adjust your orders a little, you keep it out for showering or bathing. That way we avoid any conflict.”

  
Smiling happily she nodded, leaning slightly into him for a moment, before she straightened up and started on her food. The rest of their meal was spent in idle conversation, Hermione sitting somewhat awkwardly beside him as she attempted to avoid placing any undue pressure on her plug.

  
For the first few minutes Harry only smirked each time she shifted about in her spot, but he eventually drew his wand and surreptitiously cast a cushioning charm at the bench beneath her while she was in the middle of explaining the dangers inherent in mistakenly applying a Runic Inversion in Power Matrices. To his pleased surprise, he actually understood most of what she was saying, and the two were soon involved in a debate that stretched the limits of his knowledge of Ancient Runes.

#####

Twenty minutes after they were finished with breakfast, Harry found himself pacing back and forth in front of the blank stretch of wall in the seventh floor corridor. The walk that had taken him fifteen minutes before when strolling casually along, had taken a bit longer as Hermione seemed to need to stop periodically. When he’d asked her about it she’d blushed brightly and mumbled something he couldn’t hear. A part of him wanted to admonish her for not properly answering his question, but he decided to let it go since he was enjoying watching her attempts to act as if the plug in her arse wasn’t driving her mad.

  
_I just need to make completely certain that she’s_ actually _enjoying it,_ he reminded himself as he pulled open the door that appeared in the wall beside him, _If she isn’t I may need to abandon the plug as part of this plan._

Turning to Hermione he waved her in ahead of him and pushed the door firmly closed once they were both in the Room.

He moved past Hermione as she inspected the new design of a recreation of the corner of the Gryffindor Common room complete with the coffee table, sofa, and the large fireplace where they usually sat. Pulling the Gringotts folder from within his robes, he laid the banking report on the table and shrugged out of his robes, tossing them aside.

When she came over and sat beside him on the sofa a minute later, her own robes tossed next to his, she let out a snort of laughter and then blushed again under a curious look from him.

“Just a random thought,” she muttered, her cheeks glowing. “It occured to me that it’s a little strange not to be stripping off my clothes right now. I think I’ve spent more time naked in this room than I have actually remaining dressed by now.”

“By all means, get comfortable… we’ll probably be here a while.” That said, he focused on the folder in front of him as he opened it, separating the various documents inside into different piles. By the time he finished and turned his attention back to her, she’d tied her hair back once again with a thin, black elastic hair tie she’d taken to wearing on her wrist, and her ribbon was wrapped around her throat, her blouse partly unbuttoned.  
“Comfortable?” he asked, smiling broadly at her.

She flushed again, ducking her head slightly as her eyes remained fixed on the parchment on the table. “I figured being naked would probably be more of a distraction right now,” she muttered. “Focusing on this is more important at the moment, isn’t it?”

He considered that for a moment and had to admit that she was probably right. If she was sitting naked next to him it would definitely be much more of a distraction than they really needed at that particular point in time.

“All right,” he said, turning back to the stacks on the table. “From what I can tell from the letter I received with this, we’ve got three different listings here. I apparently have three different vaults that I’ll eventually be able to access. So this one lists money in my trust vault and the family fault,” he lifted his hand from the first stack and moved it to the second, “properties owned and items that are in the family heirloom vault,” he said, moving to the third stack, “and then businesses, investments and such. I was able to work out that much, but most of what it says is pretty much Greek to me.”

He leaned back on the sofa, eyes never leaving the stacks of parchment. “The money is the easiest one, but I’m really not certain what it translates to, I mean… it seems like a lot of money to me but I honestly don’t have the slightest clue how much a galleon is worth compared to pounds, so for all I know it could just mean comfortable and not wealthy… you know?”

“One galleon is roughly equivalent to about five pounds,” she muttered, reaching forward to pick up the stack related to business listings.

Harry blinked, his head whipping toward her as he started attempting to do the math in his head. He gave up after a few seconds and decided to just classify things as, ‘he didn’t need to worry about money for a long, long while’… if ever. She noticed none of his initial consternation as she had her nose buried in the business listings, muttering quietly to herself as she read.

Some time later she placed the stack of parchment back down on the table, her gaze unfocused as she thought over what she’d just finished reading, and Harry looked up from the listing of properties and heirlooms.

“From what I can tell… well… I don’t think you really need to worry about money,” she muttered. “Your family didn’t appear to be too heavily involved in business and investments, but it looks like at some point one of your relatives got involved in something that nearly quadrupled the Potter fortune and is still turning out a steady profit today.

“Going by the dates... I’d guess it was one of your grandparents, but it’s hard to say. There’s no names, no explanation other than a listing and sums of galleons going out and coming in. If I had to guess though, you could probably never work a day in your life and still be okay as long as you didn’t spend recklessly.”

“You sound upset about that,” he muttered, noting the tone in her voice.

“Not upset,” she corrected, sighing as she went to lean back in her seat. She paused mid way through the motion, her eyes widening before she shifted her weight, leaning more on her left hip as she moved.

She flushed brilliantly again when she glanced over and noticed him smirking at her.  
“Hush,” she muttered, causing him to laugh quietly. “I’m not upset it’s just… you know this is only going to increase the rumors people are going to come up with, right? Even in the muggle world… a woman dating a rich celebrity, or someone like that, has all kinds of terrible things said about her.”

“And I really don’t give two shits what people say, Mine,” he said firmly. “People have been talking about me since I came back to this world, starting _before_ first year even. I’m used to it… but if you don’t think you want to put up with it all… well I’ll understand that.”

“I didn’t mean that,” she assured him, reaching out for his hand with both of hers. “I… I want to be with you, I just… I didn’t think you’d want to add even more scrutiny to _your_ life.”

“People are always going talk about me, there’s no avoiding that. I hate it, but there’s nothing I can do about it, right? Am I supposed to live the rest of my life not doing anything, just to try and avoid people?” He shook his head. “No… if people have a problem with who I want to date, that’s their problem, not mine. They don’t get to decide who I’m friends with, or who I want to be with.”

He reached out and tugged her lower lip from between her teeth where she was nervously chewing on it again, ignoring the worried frown on her face.

“You know how much that distracts me,” he muttered teasingly, his thumb brushing gently across her lip.  
She mumbled something and he lowered his hand, moving closer to wrap one arm around her shoulders and pull her against his side.

“Long and short of it… money isn’t going to be a problem going forward. That’s encouraging. It’s reassuring at least. I doubt I’d want to just laze around after I finish school, doing nothing, but it’s good to know that I won’t have to worry about being unable to afford food and clothes and such.” He waved his free hand at the stacks of parchment. “All this aside though, it doesn’t tell me anything about what Ron and Neville were saying; the whole Lord Potter business. We need to find someone that can explain all of that to us.”

“Maybe we should talk to Neville again? We didn’t go into much detail last time, but I’d bet he knows more,” she suggested.

Harry hummed quietly as he thought that over. “Maybe Susan and Daphne too?” he asked. “They’ve both been pretty cool, and they’re purebloods as well, they might have some more information on the whole thing.”  
They fell into a contemplative silence, both of them turning over things in their minds as they relaxed against each other.

“There’s not much else we can figure out here, is there?” Harry eventually asked, gesturing again to the parchment on the table. When she shook her head, he took his arm from around her back, and leaned forward to gather the stacks together, tucking them back into the black folder, before setting it firmly aside and turning to face her.

“We’ll worry about all that later, when we can talk with Neville and the others. Right now, I had something else I wanted to talk to you about, Mine.”

#####

Her eyes widened, just slightly, at the shift in his tone, and her posture straightened a bit more. With all of her attention firmly focused on him, she didn’t notice that the action pushed her breasts forward, spreading her partially unbuttoned blouse further to show the edges of the cream colored bra she was wearing. Focusing his thoughts for a moment, the coffee table in front of them started to shift and change, growing until it was just below waist height. He stood, taking one of her hands in his, and she let herself be urged to her feet as the sofa slid back and away behind them.

“I have a few questions that I need you to answer for me,” he murmured in her ear, standing close behind her with the table in front between them and the fireplace. “A few of them are likely to be embarrassing for the both of us, but they’re important, so I really need you to be honest. Do you understand, Mine?”

She nodded her head, “Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

“Lean forward, both hands flat on the table.”

Without pause or question she did as she was told, bending at the waist to place her palms on the table in front of her. Soon enough he had her feet spread just past shoulder width apart and he lifted her skirt, draping it across her lower back. A fierce blush colored her cheeks as that action completely bared her arse to his view, and the bright red gem nestled firmly between her cheeks.

“First,” he said as the tips of his fingers trailed across her arse, “do you, honestly, want to have sex? I know we discussed it before, but I want to be completely clear that you’re not at all unsure.”

“Absolutely, Sir,” she answered without any hesitation, completely certain that she wanted him in every way she could think of.

“Are you still a virgin?”

Her head whipped back over her shoulder, shocked cinnamon colored eyes meeting his and he immediately winced and corrected himself.

“Not that I have any reason to think you’ve been with anyone else, or that I think I’d have any right to be upset if you had. I just… I know enough to understand the first time is usually somewhat painful for a woman. I just want to know everything I can, since I’d really want your first time to be something you remember for good reasons, not because it hurt.”

The initial anger she’d felt about him even _asking_ that question subsided, slightly, but she was still a little annoyed that he seemed to doubt her. Looking back to the front she nodded again. “Yes, Sir. I’ve never been with anyone but you and… I’m fairly positive my hymen is intact.”

  
He didn’t say anything but she thought he might have nodded, his fingers never ceasing their constant roaming across the rounded globes of her arse. She couldn’t hold back an appreciative hum at the sensation that turned into a startled squeak when he suddenly tapped on the end of the plug.

“Do you know of anything we can do to avoid getting you pregnant?”

With her cheeks burning she nodded. “I’m already taking a contraceptive potion,” she admitted and felt him still behind her.

“Really?” He sounded surprised. “When did you start that?”

She lowered her head, letting it hang between her extended arms. “Over the holidays… when I was trying to research things at the Library… well my mum found some of the books referencing sexuality the first day,” she explained, mortified to have to recall that particular experience. “She questioned me about it and I- oh!” She cut off in mid-sentence, her head coming up in surprise as he gently twisted the plug. “Oh holy… s-she decided I was fourteen and likely th-thinking about sex… so she wrote a letter to Professor McGonagall. When I first got back to the school on Christmas Eve she took me to see Madam Pomfrey, since mum wanted to make sure I w-was protected from any possible accidents. It lasts for three months a-and actually stops my periods entirely.”

He hummed a wordless sound behind her, still gently twisting the plug back and forth as she’d been talking, and by the time she finished she was breathing heavily, her arms trembling slightly as she leaned against the table. _Damn, that feels even better than when I did it earlier,_ she thought absently.

“Do you know why I wanted you to keep this in?” he asked, tugging lightly at the plug and her back arched, pushing her arse back toward him.

“N-no, Sir,” she panted. _Gods he’s such a damn tease!_

“I have a plan I’m working on, to be perfectly honest. A surprise for you… but this only works as part of my plan if you’re actually enjoying it.”

_Am I enjoying it?_ she wondered incredulously as a small moan slipped past her lips.

She heard him chuckle quietly and groaned as he pulled the plug halfway out of her before pushing it back in. A moment later his finger slipped easily inside her soaked, puffy, cunt, gently rubbing against her inner walls for a few seconds before he pulled away, and she felt her skirt being pulled down again to cover her.

“Go ahead and straighten up, Mine,” he told her. When she straightened and turned, it was to find him already sucking his finger clean of her arousal. She felt a slight pang of loss that she didn't get the chance to do it for him. The thought caused her to pause for just a moment in surprise. She hadn’t thought too much about it the day before when he’d made her clean his hand. She’d even willingly grabbed his hand to clean it with her mouth after he’d finished eating her without a moment’s thought.

_I don’t know if I was always this much of a pervert, or if I’m just discovering these things the longer this goes on,_ she thought.

He must have seen something in her expression since he laughed again after removing his finger from his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said, sounding anything but, smug smirk firmly in place, “Did you want to do that?”

Her cheeks burning with embarrassment, she could only nod. _Merlin, I used to think the very idea was kind of disgusting._

He reached down suddenly, lifting the front of her skirt, and before she realized it, his hand was between her legs, fingers sliding easily across her soaked folds as he gathered the clear evidence of her arousal on his skin before presenting his hand to her. She immediately set to task, still unable to suppress a shamed flush at how eager she was to clean her mess from his skin.

When she finished, he moved the table aside and gestured to the floor in front of the fire. “Student,” he told her, moving back to the sofa as she got into position, wondering all the while what was going on. Sitting on the sofa, elbows on his thighs with his hands clasped in front of him, Harry watched her for several minutes before he spoke.

“I want you to think very carefully before you answer this next question, Mine. Honestly, this should’ve been a discussion we had a while ago, and preferably not while teasing you since I really want you clear headed when you think it over, that’s my fault. Should I wait and ask you later?”

She considered that for a moment. Was she clear headed? He’d only been teasing her for a few minutes but it had _really_ gotten her going. Playing with the plug in her arse, and the way he spoke to her… teasing her about tasting herself on his hand. The pause he’d taken before speaking though, had done much to allow her to calm herself. With the plug it was likely she’d basically be slightly turned on for as long as it was in, but not enough to impair her thought process she felt.

“I think I’m calm enough to consider the question before I answer, Sir,” she said.

He nodded and leaned back in his seat, his arms coming up to cross over his chest, brow furrowed in thought.  
“I… I want your first time to be something special,” he said slowly. “I’ve been considering different ideas but… well really I need to know what you’re hoping for, or expecting. I mean… are you hoping for something more normal and… romantic, I guess, or something more in line with what we’ve been doing?”

First and foremost, Hermione had to force herself not to focus on the idea that Harry seemed to be telling her that he was planning their first time having sex. She couldn’t afford to get taken up by those thoughts… not yet. She kept silent, thinking very carefully over her answer. What _did_ she want, anyway? Yes, she’d had many a thought over sex and what it might be like. She’d never really imagined anyone specific before, not until the night Harry had refused to leave her thoughts before she’d gone home for the break. Since then of course, he’d starred in nearly every thought, or fantasy, she’d had that involved sex or their dynamic.

_The problem is, since discovering this whole relationship dynamic, that’s really colored all of my fantasies. Do I want something more loving, or do I want him to control me still?_

She tried to imagine sex with a caring and attentive Harry, but found the idea to be less inspiring than she’d expected. Not that she didn’t find him attractive, but the idea of him not simply taking control of her and ordering her obedience… it just didn’t fill her with the same thrill or arousal.

She blinked several times, her eyes focusing on him where he sat on the sofa, bright green gaze never once flinching away from her. He was waiting for her answer, but she realized that he wasn’t flustered or nervous. He’d asked her a question, and he wasn’t worried over her answer, he just needed to know, as he’d said, since he wanted to ensure that she came away with good memories of the experience.

_Just as a good Dom should,_ she realized. They were learning about each other, but there was still a lot they didn’t know, and he was doing the smart thing, asking her directly instead of guessing. She was sure that, however things went, when they got to that point, that she was going to enjoy it, but if she was expecting one thing and he presented something else… that could be disappointing in a way, and would sour the experience for them both.

"Can I ask a question, Sir?“ she asked, hoping to clarify one point in her mind before answering.

“Of course,” he said.

“Why… are you asking because it will be _our_ first time together, or because it will be _my_ first time, period?”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “I don’t understand what you mean,” he admitted after puzzling over her question for a minute.

“If I were not still a virgin,” she said, unable to keep a slightly biting tone out of her voice, “would you still be so concerned?”

_Okay,_ she thought, _I guess I’m still a little annoyed that he actually asked me that. Yeah, I don’t think we ever expressly said it, but I thought it was pretty clear that we were each other’s firsts for everything._

He winced again, though if it was due to her tone or the question itself she couldn’t be sure.

“I’m not entirely sure,” he said. “I’d like to think that I would be concerned about it whether it was your first time or not.” He paused, his expression settling into quiet contemplation for a time. “Honestly, I think it might be a bit of both, really.”

Now it was her turn to cock her head to one side in a questioning manner. “How do you mean?”

“Well… on the one hand the fact that you never have before means it’s likely to hurt you, at least a bit. I can’t possibly know how much or how little, but like I said, I do have a plan to try to help with that. On the other hand it will be our first time, and I want that to be memorable for us both for good reasons, not because it was awkward or embarrassing or something.”

“So… you’re not romanticising the idea of me losing my virginity?” she pressed and he shook his head.

“I understand that’s something that most girls do. I never saw you as the type to romanticize much, though. You’re too practical and level headed most of the time. Mostly, I don’t want to assume that you might be looking forward to a more normal sort of encounter for our first time together and possibly wind up with both of us disappointed.”

She nodded silently in agreement. She never really had been one to worry overly much about that moment. She’d read enough to understand that the first time wasn’t usually a wonderful experience for the vast majority of women. The pain of a broken hymen was sure to distract from much of the possible enjoyment of the act. Harry being just as inexperienced, and young, meant he probably wouldn’t last long the first few times either, so she really didn’t have much expectation of some world shaking or life altering experience awaiting her. She knew it would take a few times, at least, before they would really be able to find their rhythm with each other.

She also understood that she was pretty damned lucky, having a partner that had obviously put a great deal of thought into this, and who was concerned for her and for how she felt. He’d even considered the possibility of her getting pregnant, something most boys wouldn’t even think of in their haste to get to the act itself. In the end though, what _did_ she want?

“I think,” she said slowly, “it might be best to keep things as we have been. I feel I’m ready for it, but that doesn’t mean I’m not nervous at the same time. I love when you control me, Sir. I can’t deny that, even if I wanted to. Even in this, you still have that control. I still want you to tell me what you want, and I trust that you’ll make the experience as good for me as possible.” She gave him a soft smile. “I don’t think you could do anything to really hurt me on purpose if you tried. You care to much, and I know you’ll do the best you can.”

Internally she was wondering about this plan he’d alluded to. He obviously had something specific in mind, and the questions he’d been asking were directly related to that plan in some way. Just as obviously, he didn’t intend to share that plan with her, at least not yet, so she bit down on the urge to ask about it, and decided to simply wait for him to reveal it to her.

He nodded when she finished speaking, a look of relief passing briefly across his face before he sat up straighter on the couch. He glanced at his watch for a moment before he gestured for her to stand, even as he rose smoothly to his own feet.

“Turn around,” he commanded once she had her feet under her; she silently complied. A moment later she felt him lifting the back of her skirt, a low moan escaping her lips as he started gently twisting the plug inside her again. He continued for several seconds, each movement of the plug sending pleasurable tingles through her body, until he started to pull.

Her mouth dropped open, a sharp gasp escaping her as the length of steel inside her was drawn slowly from her body, her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she did her best to relax her muscles in order to ease the item’s removal. Moments later it was out and her skirt had been lowered again. When she turned around he’d wrapped the plug carefully in a paper napkin, setting it down on the table, and was in the process of gathering together their robes and the Gringotts portfolio.

“S-Sir?” she asked, a touch breathlessly.

“Breakfast is nearly over,” he said as he held her robes out to her. “I know you’ve finished all your assignments for the week, so I think it’d be best if we track down Daphne, Susan, and Neville and see if we can’t get them to explain all this Heir Potter stuff to us. If they’re up for it we can do that until lunch, or until they run out of things to tell us, whichever comes first.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “I’m fairly certain that Neville and Susan would be happy to help. Daphne, I’m not certain about. She is a Slytherin and likely wouldn’t just give away information for free. She might expect something in return for helping.”

Harry gave a careless shrug. “Won’t know until we ask,” he pointed out, pulling his robes on, and tucking the portfolio into an inside pocket. He moved back toward her and reached out to pick up the plug, still securely wrapped up.

“As far as this goes… you can leave it out while we’re talking to Neville and the girls. On our way to find them you should clean it and before we go to lunch I want you to put it back. That gives you a few hours break.”

“I understand, Sir,” she said as she took the plug and tucked it away in a pocket of her robes. “There’s a girls loo on this floor, we can stop on our way.”

#####

Later that evening, Hermione found herself in the Common Room, sitting before the fire with one of her favorite books held open on her lap. Try though she might, she was unable to concentrate on the text as her mind mulled over the event’s of the day.

After leaving the Room, they’d found Neville and Susan in the Great Hall and both had been happy to help educate them on the particulars of wizarding society. While Hermione had led the two to the Library, Harry had gone off to track down Daphne. When the two of them had arrived some ten minutes later, Harry informed her that she had been correct in her initial assumption, Daphne wasn’t willing to do something for nothing, and would be holding onto a favor to ask of them in the future.

Hermione frowned, gazing sightlessly into the fire place as she considered that. She wasn’t thrilled about the idea of owing an open favor to the blond Slytherin, but she did consider the girl a friend, or at the least _friendly_ , and could only hope that she wouldn’t ask for something too onerous.

_Besides,_ she reassured herself as she carefully shifted her weight on the couch, _it’s not like what she did was really a huge deal. Any return favor couldn’t be too big or it wouldn’t be an even deal._

With that matter firmly settled in her mind, her thoughts turned to what they’d learned during their few hours spent chatting with their friends. She found herself more grateful than ever that she and Harry had started dating before she’d seen his Gringotts folder, or that afternoon’s eye opening discussion. That wouldn’t stop people from talking, or spreading rumors, but at least she could honestly say that none of that had any part in why she wanted to be with him.

The long and short of the situation, as they’d learned, was that before the founding of Hogwarts, giving the wizards and witches of the age a central location to learn and practice magic, the vast majority of magical learning was done by the parents of magical children, and then through the Master/Apprentice Model. The problem with that, was that most Masters would only take on a single apprentice at a time, and frequently those Masters focused their tutelage on the areas of magic where they were most skilled, leading to an unbalanced education.

This also left a large number of witches and wizards with little way to educate themselves past a certain point. The magical population of the day was widespread, and there were few, if any, established communities for the people to come together as a functioning society. With the founding of Hogwarts, and the possibility of a more rounded education becoming available to the average magical citizen, a number of families came together to help organize the magical populace. These families would become the first sitting members of the body that would eventually become the Wizengamot.

According to Susan, Neville, and Daphne, the Potters were one of those families.

The thought was mind boggling. To think that her Sir’s family had helped to create British Wizarding Society… it beggard belief. As a result of that pedigree, Harry would have a seat on the Wizengamot when he came of age, as well as his family name holding a lot of sway in various political circles. And that didn’t even account for the financial power that he would one day have at his command.

In short, he really would one day be ‘Lord Potter’, and it was not something that he could just wish away, or ignore as something that he hadn’t earned for himself. It was a family legacy that he would have to shoulder, and however their relationship continued to develop, Hermione was bound and determined that she would be there with him, every step of the way, to offer her support.

A body suddenly dropped heavily onto the cushion next to her, breaking her from her contemplations as she barely held back a scream of fright. She jumped, book tumbling from her hands to land on the carpet before the fire. She spun sharply in her seat, ignoring the way her weight pressed down uncomfortably on her plug to come face to profile with-

“Harry?” she blurted out, staring wide eyed at him for a moment before her eyes suddenly narrowed angrily. “You. Scared. Me,” she snapped, punctuating each word with a sharp slap to his shoulder.

For a moment he didn’t react. Then, he looked down at the shoulder she’d hit as a wave of confusion washed over her at his behavior. Her eyes widened again and the air rushed from her lungs when he reached out and gently tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

_Oh shit!_ she thought as it hit her what she’d just done. Without thinking she’d actually hit her Sir. Not hard or maliciously, but still…

“We’ll discuss _that_ another time,” he muttered so quietly that she almost couldn’t hear him. The shame and panic that had bubbled up in her chest vanished as she noted an unusual tone in his voice. Despite how quietly he’d spoken, to her trained ear, he was clearly agitated. She didn’t think it was because of her, though.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, concerned for him.

He was quiet for a time, staring pensively into the fire before he let out a heavy sigh. “I lost the map,” he muttered.

She blinked in surprise by his answer. “Lost the-”

“Professor Lupin took it, actually,” he cut her off.

“What happened?”

He sighed again, slumping down on the couch. “I was stupid,” he said. “I’ve… I’ve been spotting a name on the map off and on for weeks now. A name that shouldn’t be there.”

“Weren’t you saying something like that a few weeks ago?” she asked, to which he nodded a silent agreement.

“Yeah. That was how I spotted the two of us on the map that one day, I was looking for the other name that I’d seen before.”

“Were you actually _looking_  for Black?” she asked, suddenly worried about the impulsive nature of her boyfriend. “After the last time I really don’t think-”

“Not Black,” he cut her off again before she could really get going. “I wasn’t looking for Black.” He leaned forward suddenly, elbows resting on his knees and his hands tightly clasped in front of him. “I was looking for Peter Pettigrew.”

Hermione felt her brow crease into a puzzled frown. “But… isn’t he dead?” she asked. “I mean, he’s the one that Black blew up, along with all those people…” She trailed off, unsure what else there was to say.

“That’s what people say,” he muttered, “but I saw his name on the map and it hasn’t been wrong yet. I even asked the twins if it’s ever been mistaken, and they said that as far as they knew it’s always accurate.”

Hermione’s mind spun quickly, slotting new information alongside old facts to put together a new picture.  
“If it’s never wrong, then Pettigrew isn’t dead. If he’s not dead, then obviously Black couldn’t have killed him. But if he’s alive, where has he been all this time? And why wouldn’t he have come forward?”

Harry shrugged. “No idea, but it makes everything that people _say_ happened a bit suspicious. Add in that letter from Susan’s Aunt… the ‘irregularities’ that she found, and it all looks even worse. Maybe… maybe there’s more to this than everyone has been led to believe.”

“That’s typically the case with anything,” she admitted. “There’s nearly always more to the story.” Reaching out she took hold of one of his hands, her thumb rubbing gentle circles on his skin. “Tell me what happened with the map?” she asked, bringing things back to the start of their discussion.

He sighed and leaned back in his seat, his body tilting naturally toward her, as if drawing on her presence in some way that she couldn’t quite define. “I had just finished turning in the last of my assignments for the first term to Professor Babbling,” he began. “I was on my way back here when I decided to check the map again. I found Pettigrew’s name… according to the map he was down by Hagrid’s hut so I decided to go take a look.”  
The last statement was admitted a bit sheepishly as he stared resolutely into the fire.

“Oh, Harry,” she sighed. “If Pettigrew is still alive and he’s been hiding all this time… he could be dangerous. He could be scared or desperate, and desperate people can do bad things.” She tried very hard to not sound as if she were lecturing but there was no keeping the worry out of her voice.

“I know,” he muttered, raking his free hand back through his hair in frustration, causing the already chaotic nest atop his head to stick out even more haphazardly than ever before. “I know that, but… I need to know, Hermione. I need to know what happened that night. Black and Pettigrew are my best chances to get any answers.”

She said nothing but moved closer to him on the couch, offering what support she could without any words spoken between them as he continued his story.

“There’s not much more to it,” he said. “I was focused on the map, watching the dot with his name and I wasn’t really paying attention to where I was going. I ended up running headlong into Snape.”

She winced at that, and bit her tongue against the knee jerk reaction to correct his failure to use Professor Snape’s title. “That couldn’t have ended well,” she finally said.

He snorted out a laugh. “Understatement. I’m surprised you couldn’t hear him screaming for my expulsion from here.”

“So what happened?”

“He snatched the map from me, luckily I was able to clear it just before he grabbed it so it was blank once he got his hands on it. He started trying to figure out what it was and eventually the Marauders started insulting him.” He cracked a small grin at that. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone turn that color before. Before he could really blow his top, though, Professor Lupin showed up. I’m really not sure how he did it, but he got Snape to hand over the map and took me to his office.

“We talked for a few minutes, mostly him asking where I found the map and then admonishing me for not turning it in since it could be dangerous in the wrong hands, according to him. The way he talked about the Marauders though… I asked if he knew them and he actually admitted that he did, he’d gone to school with them. He said that they would have found me coming face to face with Black extremely hilarious.”

Hermione pursed her lips, completely unsure how to take that particular piece of information. From what the Weasley twins had said, the Marauders had been pranksters, practical jokers, similar to the two redheads. If they’d have found a potentially dangerous prank, like getting Harry face to face with a man that may, or may not, be a deranged killer, to be hilarious… she wasn’t so certain they deserved the twins reverence of them and their supposed legend.

“Anyway,” he continued, “the Professor kept the map. Before I left, I mentioned that I’d seen Pettigrew’s name on it and he was pretty insistent that that wasn’t possible, but he told me he’d look into it.”

“That’s good,” she said, sighing with relief. “He’s our Defense Professor, and he’s been a really good one so far. I know you want answers, but don’t you think it might be best to let the adults handle this? Black and Pettigrew, if he really is alive, could both be dangerous.”

“I can’t just sit around and wait for other people to figure this out, Hermione,” he practically pleaded.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt, Harry,” she shot back as calmly as she could. “I can’t imagine how hard this all has to be for you. I won’t pretend that I can, but I can understand that it is actually difficult. Just… remember what I said about you rushing into things without thinking a plan through? This is exactly the kind of situation that I’d be most worried about.” She pressed herself closer, wrapping her arms tightly around him as she pressed her face into his shoulder.

“Three years in a row you’ve nearly died,” she whispered, fear and worry warring for a place of prominence in her chest. “I know you can’t always avoid trouble, but please don’t go looking for it when you don’t need to.”

Mentally she was begging for him to understand, pleading for him not to risk himself, for both their sakes. It gutted her everytime Harry was forced to narrowly escape an early grave, and she honestly didn’t know if he threw himself into these situations just because he felt it was the right thing to do, to take action where others wouldn’t or couldn’t, or if he honestly just placed no real value on his own welfare. She didn’t think that he actually had a death wish… but at the same time he never seemed to worry about his own safety.

She clung to him, almost desperately, as he sat in silence for several minutes, his body tense under her grip. Finally, after an indeterminable amount of time had passed them by, she felt his muscles relax ever so slightly and a soft sigh escaped him.

“All right,” he muttered, “I won’t go looking for trouble.”

Her arms tightened around him, and she opened her mouth to speak, but he continued talking before she managed to get the words out.

“I won’t go looking,” he repeated, “but if something crosses my path I’m not going to run away either. Not if there’s a chance I can do something. If I can get one of the professors then I will, but if the choice is trying to stop either of them or letting them escape…”

He trailed off into silence but the rest of the statement didn’t need to be spoken aloud for her to understand his meaning.

She only hoped that such a situation wouldn’t come up, despite their track record that clearly showed that exact scenario was far more likely to happen than not.

_Well, if he’s going to insist on being in danger, then I’m damn sure going to be standing right next to him,_ she thought as he wrapped his own arms around her and pulled her closer to him. _There’s no way I’m letting you get away from me Harry Potter. And, Sir or not, I’ll hex you into next year if you try to keep me out of this._

  
They sat in silence for a while, students milling about them in that span of time post dinner but pre-curfew. The Common Room wasn’t exceptionally crowded, but it wasn’t empty either, and Hermione found herself grateful that they’d been left alone during their discussion and for the time since to just enjoy being together without distraction. At one point, Ron came down the stairs from the dorm he shared with Harry but he didn’t approach them, instead moving over to the far side of the room where he talked Seamus into a game of wizards chess. She wondered idly if their friendship would ever return to normal. Thus far it didn’t seem like things would improve, and she honestly wasn’t sure she’d want them to even if Ron apologized.

She was drawn from her musings when she felt Harry lean down toward her and his breath suddenly brushed across her ear.

“I think it’s time we addressed your actions earlier, Mine,” he whispered as her body tensed and her cheeks warmed with a brilliant flush.

_Oh, right. I hit him,_ she thought.

“I don’t mind a playful slap now and then to an arm or shoulder. That wasn’t playful though, was it?”

Shamefully she shook her head, her eyes directed at the floor where her book still lay after she’d dropped it earlier. “No, Sir,” she whispered.

“Then you agree that you should be punished for that?”

“Yes, Sir,” she murmured as calmly as she could.

He hummed thoughtfully for a moment, and she fought the urge to squirm in place, wondering what he was going to do to her. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the students present as a thrill passed through her. There they were, sitting in a fairly public location, and their conversation was going completely unnoticed. The chance that someone might catch on was slim, but it existed, and she felt herself getting wet over the thought of them being caught.

"I think... for hitting me earlier... I want you to masturbate for me, Mine," he whispered to her and she nodded immediately.

"Yes, Sir," Hermione said, starting to get up from the couch, but was restrained by Harry's arm where it was still wrapped around her.

"No, Mine... here..."

Hermione gulped, _here?_ she thought. _Merlin, he wants me to-_

"Hesitation... will be punished."

That short sentence was spoken in a harsh whisper and she bit back a yelp when his arm shifted and he suddenly, painfully, pinched the side of her left breast.

“‘When given an order by the Dom, the sub is to respond quickly and without hesitation or question’,” she quoted their contract and settled back on the couch, her right side pressed tightly against him. A quick glance around showed a blanket folded and laying across the back of the couch and she grabbed it, quickly unfolding it and spreading it out across their laps. She pulled up the blanket so it was over her left shoulder, hiding her arm entirely.

Once hidden from a casual glance, she twisted slightly, pressing her back more toward her Sir, left leg stretched out along the couch and her right foot resting on the floor as she pulled her skirt up beneath the blanket and let her fingers slide across the already swollen and damp lips of her cunt.

She wasn’t even a little surprised to find how wet she already was and let out a shaky breath as small jolts of pleasure shot through her body. Honestly, she wasn’t sure how this was supposed to be a punishment but she was going to follow her orders as best she could.

“You know you messed up,” he said casually as she stroked herself beneath the blanket. “To make sure you learn your lesson though, you're going to continue what you're doing until I tell you to stop.”

_That doesn't sound like much of a punishment,_ she thought as she slowly sank a finger inside her body. His next sentence, however, made it crystal clear just what her actual punishment was going to be.

“You are also completely forbidden from cumming at all tonight. Do you understand?”

_She couldn't cum? At all?_

Eyes wide, she stared up at him for a moment, looking for some sign of how serious he was, and she found only the calm and controlled face that she knew meant he was completely serious. For however long he had her sitting there, playing with herself, she absolutely could not go over that edge that she was already rapidly approaching.

“I understand, Sir,” she whimpered, desperately holding back a moan of mixed pleasure and disappointment as she thought, _this is going to be an extremely frustrating night._


	11. Wagers and Too Much?

Harry groaned as he cleared the last step leading up to the seventh floor, broom slung over one shoulder, Quidditch robes soaked through and caked with mud as he left a trail of water behind him on his path through the castle.

 _Just a little farther,_ he thought as the entrance to Gryffindor Tower came into view at the end of the corridor in front of him. That evening’s practice had been particularly brutal and he found himself wondering if perhaps Oliver was taking things a little _too_ far in his eagerness to insure that Gryffindor took the cup this year. The burly seventh year’s apparent obsession had resulted in practice running for three hours after dinner before Fred and George had threatened severe pranking retribution if he didn’t let them go.

While the rest of the team had made a run for the locker room and the showers, Harry had decided to get back to the tower as quickly as possible where he could be reasonably sure he’d have the dorm showers entirely to himself.

 _And you wanted to see Mine,_ he added mentally, a small smile tugging at his lips at the thought. The poor girl had been in a rather severe state since the Sunday evening three days before when he’d made her spend an hour playing with herself in the Common Room without allowing her to actually cum. He found that he loved watching her try to act as if everything was perfectly normal even though he could see the little signs that told him she was close to losing her mind.

“Potter?”

Harry stopped a dozen feet from the entrance as a voice intruded on his thoughts and turned to find a slender girl with bright blue eyes, long, straight blond hair, and Slytherin green trim on her robes standing a few feet away.

“Daphne?” he asked, surprised to find the Slytherin girl so near Gryffindor Tower. “What are you doing all the way up here?”

In the few short weeks that he’d known the girl, since joining the Ancient Runes course, Harry had learned a small handful of things about her. Daphne Greengrass was a pureblood witch from an old family, one on par with his own as an original founding member of the Wizengamot, but she didn’t act like the blood purists they usually dealt with. Names like Malfoy, Nott, and Parkinson came to mind. She was also rather less emotive even than he was, her facial expressions rarely giving away anything more than placid indifference.

He also knew that she didn’t do anything without a reason. If she was here then there was no coincidence about her presence.

“I wanted to ask you something, Potter,” she said in the cool, even tones he’d come to expect from her.

One brow arched questioningly in her direction and Harry turned a little more so he was facing her more fully and waved his free hand in her direction for her to continue.

“You are going to be the Head of a Most Ancient and Noble House,” she said. “Why is it that you don’t know more about your station or the history of our world?”

Harry shrugged. “Because no one ever explained it to me.”

A slender brow rose, matching his earlier expression and her head tilted slightly to one side as she regarded him curiously. “How is that possible?”

He shrugged again. “I grew up with my muggle relatives,” he explained. “They didn’t know much about magic or about my dad’s side of the family.”

Her head tilted the other way, both brows rising for a moment that time before falling back into her usual emotionless mask. He’d realized quickly that it _was_ a mask. No one was that consistently calm and even tempered. He wasn’t entirely sure why she’d chosen to don that particular mask to show the rest of them, but he knew it wasn’t his business. If she wanted to share the why with him that would be up to her, and they’d have to be much better friends, first, something he could see happening as long as she gave him a chance. She’d been pleasant enough to him and she wasn’t mean to, or dismissive of Hermione; that alone gave her serious points in his book.

“That actually explains a few things… but opens up so many other questions at the same time,” she murmured, her gaze holding him in place as she continued to study him.

“If there’s nothing else? I’d really like to get cleaned up,” he said after a minute of silence passed them by.

“I’d like to offer my assistance, teaching you what you should have learned years ago,” she said, stopping him in the middle of turning away toward the Tower and he spun back to her, surprise etched on his face.

His eyes narrowed a moment later. “What do you want for that?” he asked hesitantly, hoping his question didn’t come across as an accusation.

“Nothing.”

“That’s not like you,” he said.

“You don’t know me,” came her quick response.

“I know a few things,” he countered. “I know that, aside from being a Slytherin, which alone implies the sort of cunning that would preclude offering something for nothing, you are particularly shrewd and wouldn’t likely give away something that you might use to your advantage. So, for you to say you don’t want anything for helping me? I find that suspicious at best.”

She said nothing for a time, only continued to stare at him before she suddenly seemed to slump slightly, her shoulders lowering and some apparent tension easing out of her frame as her posture relaxed, just a touch.

“I don’t hate you,” she said causing him to blink in surprise. “A lot of us in the snake pit go on about hating the Great Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, and all that other rubbish. My family has never stood behind blood purity or any of the garbage those people espouse. But we have stood by our traditions, our culture, and history. Something people like Malfoy and the rest claim you to be actively against.”

“And?”

“And I want something from you.”

“I don’t understand,” he admitted with a frown. “You say you’ll help for nothing, but you want something? And what do your traditions have to do with it?”

A small smirk twisted a full pair of lips. “It’s about building trust, Potter. You don’t trust me. You probably shouldn’t trust me. You’re right, I am a Slytherin, and I am ambitious and I have goals and plans. But if I give you what you want, in this case my assistance in learning what you need to know, I believe that I’ll eventually get what I want. And I can promise you that you would be giving it freely at that point, and it wouldn’t harm you.”

“And if I actually don’t want to help you with whatever it is you’re looking for by that time?” he couldn’t help but ask.

Daphne shrugged, somehow managing to make the action seem elegant. “Then that’s the risk I run. We Slytherins try to get things to work out in our favor… good Slytherins, at least, we can’t include Malfoy in that list, but the reality is things don’t always go according to plan.”

Harry considered that, letting silence fall between them again for a time before speaking. “For a Slytherin you’re being very straightforward. I gotta admit, that makes me more than a little nervous,” he admitted.

“Trust, Potter. If I was disingenuous about my intentions any trust we do build would be damaged if you were to find out about it. You Gryffindors are usually so straight forward, I felt it was in my best interests to be up front from the beginning.”

“This help you offered, teaching me what I should already know… what’s to stop me from asking Susan, or Neville? They’re purebloods from old family lines as well and could just as easily help,” he pointed out.

“You could do that,” she agreed with a small nod of her head. “I honestly wouldn’t blame you. I’m hoping that Gryffindor nobility of yours won’t let you turn down my offer. What I want from you… well… _might_ want, as it's by no means a sure thing at this point, it’s important to me. Very important. I’ve heard you don’t mind helping people that need it.”

That comment worried him a bit and he took a step toward her, lowering his broom to his side. “Is something wrong?” he asked. “And why me? If you need help there must be other people you could go to. One of the professors?”

He was surprised when her response was to let out an extremely unladylike snort, waving one hand dismissively at his suggestion.

“Believe me, Potter. If it becomes an issue, this is absolutely not something one of the professors can help me with. As for why you…” She trailed off, studying him carefully for a few seconds before another smirk tugged at one corner of her mouth. “How about this? A wager. I will definitely gain something from this situation, and what that is would be fairly easy to guess for anyone that had grown up in a traditional pureblood home. You agree to these lessons, and if you can figure it out before I ask, then I’ll explain ‘why you?’.”

“And if I can’t figure it out by then? For all I know you could decide to ask me next week. Your condition might be that I have to agree to whatever this favor you want is if I lose your little wager.”

“True, I could,” she admitted. “But we wouldn’t have built up anywhere near the level of trust for me to ask by that time. And yes, I could put that as the stakes but you wouldn’t likely accept that.” She paused thinking carefully for a moment on the situation. “We have a set deadline, if you can’t make a guess by the train ride home at the end of the year then I win. But if you guess correctly, then you win.”

He nodded silently at that.

“I’m impressed,” she said, eyeing him curiously. “Obviously you saw that potential pitfall so I wouldn’t be able to trick you with that, even if I’d intended to.” Her head tilted to the side again. “Actually… you’re rather more clever than I expected you to be. Why haven’t you shown more of that?”

“So what do you get if I lose this wager of yours?” he asked, ignoring her question. He could see by the way she looked at him that she wasn’t going to let his avoidance go, but thankfully she didn’t press the issue, yet.

“At present you already owe me an open favor, a small one, admittedly, but a favor.”

“And you want to add a second open favor to your tally? Taking up a collection?” he asked.

Daphne shook her head. “No, Potter, that would be too much to expect…” She trailed off for a moment, thinking carefully before she suddenly began rummaging in her robes. Eventually, she retrieved a scrap of parchment and a self-inking quill.

“Turn around,” she commanded and he quirked a brow at her without otherwise making any effort to move. She rolled her eyes, probably the most childish thing he’d yet seen her do. “Please? I need to write something and it would be much easier if I could borrow your back.”

Harry held his position for several seconds before he let the smug smirk that had become such a fixture with him of late twist his lips and he slowly turned to present his back to her, his head turned to look over his shoulder at her.

Taking a step forward she pressed the piece of parchment to his back and wrote carefully for a few moments before she stepped away and folded the parchment in half. A tap of her wand and a muttered spell had the piece of parchment glowing brightly for a few seconds before the light faded leaving it looking just the same as always.

“What was that?” he asked, turning back around to face her.

“This is the favor I want if I win our wager. It’s something small, though it does involve Granger. It would be insulting of me to expect another open favor from you, and if you were willing to accept that than you probably aren’t who I think you are. But I don’t really want you to know what I’m asking for at this time, so here it is, already written down from the outset.”

His expression morphed into shock at that before his brow furrowed into a frown.

“It’s not a big favor, it’s a small thing, really, so you can be sure that I won’t ask for something difficult in the event that I win in the future, but you can’t look at what it is until either you win, or I do.”

Harry’s frown would have deepend if that were possible. He really wasn’t sure that he liked the sound of that and expressed that aloud. “I can’t make deals or agreements for Hermione,” he said. “Personally, I’m not certain I like not knowing what stakes I’d be playing for. Added onto that, it doesn’t sound like I’m the one that’d be paying the stake if I lose. What is it you want from Hermione?”

“Nothing terrible, I promise you that,” she said, holding the parchment out to him. “And the stakes are for both of you, not just her. Discuss it with Granger, by all means, and you can hold onto this so you can be certain I don’t change it or replace it with something else. The charm I cast seals it until our wager is concluded and you won’t be able to open it until then, but at least you’ll know that I haven’t done anything to change things past this point.”

Hesitantly he reached out and took the parchment in his free hand, showing that he’d been palming his wand where it had been tucked up his sleeve. She quirked her own brow at that and shot him an approving look as the smirk made its way back onto his face.

“Like I was really going to turn my back on you without taking some kind of precaution,” he told her in an admonishing tone that had a hint of color rushing to her cheeks. “I’m a Gryffindor, not stupid.”

“I do believe I’m beginning to learn that about you, Potter, and I’m looking forward to learning more.” Turning on her heel she started walking away, only stopping when Harry called out to her.

“Daphne?”

“What is it, Potter?” she asked, looking back over her shoulder at him.

“If you’re honestly interested in trying to be friends, you should know that my friends call me Harry, not Potter.”

Her expression was inscrutable once again and he couldn’t begin to guess what she might have been thinking but after a few seconds she nodded once and started walking away again. Just before she turned the corner her voice floated back toward him. “I’ll be seeing you… Harry.”

 

#####

 

 _Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut UP!_ Hermione demanded of her brain, staring at the folded piece of parchment that she held in her hands. She’d tried everything she could think of to break whatever charm Daphne had cast on the thing but she had to admit she really wasn’t feeling at her best.

Half an hour earlier Harry had come into the Tower and briefly told her what happened in the corridor outside before giving her the parchment to hold onto while he ran to shower and change into some clean clothes and she was expecting him back any minute. The problem was that she couldn’t fucking _concentrate_!

Since discovering the joys of masturbation at the beginning of the previous summer, Hermione had never gone more than a day or two without some form of self gratification. During those times she hadn’t felt remotely as turned on and out of control as she did now.

She’d also never had a plug in her arse, or been forced to masturbate but forbidden from actually reaching orgasm. She couldn’t tell if she’d always been such a slut and just hadn’t known it, or if the things Harry was doing to her, making her do, and what he said to her in quiet whispers where no one else could hear had turned her into what she had now become.

She was certain that she was nothing more than a slave to her cunt and the pleasure that it could give her. Her. Hermione Granger, the Brightest Witch of her Age, couldn’t concentrate because she wanted to jam her fingers into her cunt and play with her clit until she had no choice but to scream out her relief.

Monday hadn’t been too bad. She’d been highly aroused the entire day but she was able to focus on her classes and her assignments and largely ignore the signals her body was sending her brain. Until that night when she’d tried to sleep. Multiple times she’d caught her hands wandering across her body without her realizing it and forced herself not to give in. Sir hadn’t said she could cum and she hadn’t asked his permission to get herself off either.

She’d not had a restful night’s sleep.

Tuesday had been worse, and Tuesday evening had made Monday seem simple in comparison. Now, on the third day of being denied an orgasm while the plug in her arse kept her body nearly constantly stimulated, she was ready to cave. The only reason she hadn’t done so before was her utter mortification at the very thought of asking him for permission to masturbate. Knowing that he’d _know_ exactly what she was doing left her simultaneously ashamed and even more aroused.

She had to talk to Sir. She couldn’t continue like this for much longer. It had been fun, in its own way, at first. Frustrating as hell, yes, but fun. The feeling she got from obeying her Sir… it filled her with a warmth and joy she couldn’t properly express, but this denial… she was on the cusp, and her school work was beginning to suffer for it which was absolutely _not_ supposed to be part of the plan with their relationship. This was all supposed to help her deal with the stress she had placed on herself, not drive her to the brink of insanity, and if she didn’t get some kind of relief soon she didn’t know what she’d-

“Hermione? Are you okay?”

She jumped, startled by the sound of Sir’s voice and looked up to see him standing near the couch where she was sitting before the fire, a concerned look on his face as he carefully studied her. He was dressed in a pair of black sleep pants and one of those oversized t-shirts she knew came from his horribly obese cousin. His hair was tousled and still damp from his shower and she didn’t think he’d ever looked sexier to her than he did in that moment.

She hesitated for a second, chewing hard on her bottom lip before she slowly shook her head and the concern on his face double as he dropped into a seat next to her, his arms going around her and drawing her close to him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice echoing the worry etched on his face.

_Merlin's beard, I actually have to say it out loud!_

“I… I can’t concentrate,” she whispered, extremely worried about being too loud. The Common Room wasn’t nearly as crowded as it’d been Sunday night, but there were still students about and the thrill she’d felt at the thought of someone discovering what they were talking about wasn’t present tonight.

“What’s wrong?” he repeated.

“Oh, God,” she moaned and buried her head against his neck, humiliated to have to say this. “Please… let me cum?” she pleaded quietly and she felt him jerk slightly back so he could look down at her.

“What?” he asked, sounding startled.

“Sir… I’m… I can’t take it anymore. I need to cum. Please, you said if I wanted to get myself off I had to ask you for permission first. I’m not asking, I’m _begging_. I’m… this is too much. I had to cast a drying charm on my seat and the back of my robes before I left after my Arithmancy class earlier. I’m so wet I literally soaked through my clothes.”

She tilted her head back, looking him in the eyes and prayed that he’d be able to see just how serious she was. In his gaze, a war seemed to be taking place. If there was one thing that she had always prided herself on, it was her ability to read the emotional state of one Harry James Potter. Since the beginning of their relationship as a couple that had been a more difficult thing to do. His growing confidence, self assurance, and command of her made him harder for her to read, but she’d started relearning him and she felt she was making excellent progress.

She could easily see a bit of pride, pride that he’d reduced her to this, that he’d been the cause of getting her so worked up that she could barely stand it. But behind that pride, uncertainty roiled around like storm clouds in those expressive green eyes. No matter how much control over himself he learned, she didn’t think he’d ever be able to stop her from reading his eyes, they gave away so much about what he was feeling whether he wanted them to or not.

“If this has gotten to be too much you know you have a safeword you can use,” he reminded her.

She shook her head. “No, I don’t want us to stop I just… I…” Her head dropped back onto his shoulder as her voice fell to a whisper, “ _fuck_ ,” she hissed. “I just need to cum. Please, Sir. Please.”

She knew she was begging. She knew she was acting the desperate, needy slut, but she knew the only other option was to stop what they were doing and she really didn’t want to do that, not even temporarily.

“There’s nothing wrong with using your safeword if you feel something has gotten to be too much for you,” he reminded her and she rapidly nodded her head.

“I know, Sir,” she whimpered.

“And you remember I don’t want you hiding how you’re feeling from me. If I’d known it was this hard on you I’d have done something before now.”

“I'm _sorry_ , Sir,” she said, the words coming out as a piteous whine that she couldn't suppress.

Sighing wordlessly he lifted one hand and gently tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear before he let his hand drop back to his lap. “That’s something we’ll have to discuss in a bit, but for right now you’re not focused enough for it, so I’m going to give you a choice, Mine,” he whispered to her. “Option one, you can go ahead and get yourself off if that will help you focus.”

Her head popped up off of his shoulder, mouth already opening to eagerly accept the first offer but he kept speaking, keeping his voice low.

“You may go ahead and cum,” he said, “but you have to do it here, sitting next to me. Or, option two, you can decide not to and see how you handle waiting until our session on Saturday. _If_ you choose that option, then the plug will be coming out of your arse until then as well, and I will consider that your punishment for this latest issue.”

By the time he finished speaking her mouth was simply hanging open, her eyes wide in dumbfounded shock. If she wanted relief she had to do it right here? That, or suffer the rest of the night and two more days before their next session?

Yes, it wasn’t something entirely new, she _had_ spent an hour stroking and fingering her needy cunt just two days ago in this very spot. This was a different breed of animal, however. She’d always silenced her bed curtains in the past to cover her moans and she was more worked up at that precise moment than she had ever been in her life. And punishment? Punishment for what? What issue was he talking about?

“I… I’m not… I don’t know if I can keep quiet,” she slowly admitted, a shamed flush coloring her cheeks even as her eyes darted around the sparsely populated room.

“Then you’re welcome to wait if you don’t think you can,” he whispered back, his tone firm, showing he wouldn’t be moved on the subject. She had her choices and there would be no deviating from the options he’d laid out for her, apparently.

 _Fuck,_ she thought. _Can I really manage it without getting us in trouble? But if you don’t, your classwork and focus will continue to suffer and who knows how bad you’ll be if you have to wait._

There really wasn’t much of a decision to be made and she soon found herself reaching for the blanket from Sunday that was once again folded and draped across the back of the couch. In less than a minute she was under the blanket, half lying down along the couch with her upper body leaning against Harry, his left arm wrapped around her, with her skirt around her waist, and her own left hand buried between her legs.

The first touch of a finger against her clit had her letting out a long, shuddering breath as she struggled not to moan loudly. Her fingers were instantly soaked as she parted her outer lips and slid down through her slick folds to her entrance.

“God, that feels good,” she hissed quietly as she slid one finger as far into her body as she could, wiggling that invading digit slightly once she was at the limit of how far she could reach. She wanted nothing more than to cum right then, to fuck herself with her fingers and rub at her clit until she fell over that edge into oblivion. That would make what she was doing way too obvious though, so she was forced to keep her actions slow and small, which only served to draw out her torture.

“Hey, Harry, got a minute?”

Terror shot through her and she froze, her body stiffening up as Neville’s voice reached them, finger still buried to the hilt in her soaked and swollen cunt. Harry rubbed her arm gently through the blanket that covered her.

“Yeah, Mate, what’s up?”

Neville came into view around the edge of the couch and Hermione quickly closed her eyes, forcing her body to relax against Harry.

“Oh… I didn’t realize she was sleeping,” she heard Neville say, his voice suddenly pitched much more softly than it had been at first. “I can talk to you about it later, Harry-”

“No, it’s fine, Nev. Have a seat.”

 _What?_ she thought when Harry invited Neville to stay. _No, no, no… don’t let him stay! Please, make him leave!_

It took a great deal of restraint not to let out a loud, frustrated groan and a moment later she felt Harry move, then his lips pressed against the side of her head as he gently kissed her.

“No one said you could stop, Mine,” he whispered before he sat back up.

Blind shock shot through her. There was no way he was honestly expecting her to… with Neville sitting right there?

“I was hoping that I could ask you for some help, Harry,” Neville said, his voice still pitched low.

“What'd you need, Neville?” Sir asked, his left hand resting on her hip.

“Well, you've got the highest marks for Defense in our year,” Neville pointed out as Sir subtly pinched her hip between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing just hard enough for it to begin to hurt and to reinforce his order not to stop what she was doing.

 _The sub is to respond quickly, without hesitation or question,_ she reminded herself. Very slowly, moving only her hand, she pulled her finger from her body before just as slowly easing it back inside.

“I do?” Sir asked, sounding surprised to learn he was the best in their year in Defense and she had to hold back an indelicate snort at that thought. He was so humble at times, better than being arrogant and full of himself, but there were times it drove her mad that he seemed incapable of accepting praise or recognition for his accomplishments.

She let their conversation wash over her, only partly listening as she continued to slowly fuck herself with one slender finger. Silently, she lamented the fact that it was _her_ finger invading her body, and not her Sir’s. His fingers were thicker than her own, rough and calloused from years of hard work and from riding his broom and she couldn’t help but remember how wonderfully they’d filled her while his tongue and lips had danced over her cunt just a few days ago.

 _This isn’t going to work,_ she thought after ten minutes of sawing her finger back and forth. It was too gentle, too slow. While it felt good, it would never be enough to get her off, and her orders, the choice of orders that she’d picked, was to actually cum, right there in the Common Room. She’d already hesitated to follow his orders and she didn’t want to disappoint him any further.

Shifting her weight, she turned slightly, as if moving in her ‘sleep’ and both boys fell silent until she went still again, Sir’s hand gently stroking her arm. Her new position allowed her to move her right hand to join her left between her legs. Immediately, her middle finger found and began rubbing firm circles around her clit.

“It’s a clockwise twist of the wrist,” Sir was saying, explaining some spell to Neville. She’d long ago lost track of their discussion and she felt his arm tighten around her as a series of tremors ran through her body with each brush of her finger over that swollen bundle of nerves.

 _Oh, God_ , she moaned mentally, shocks of pleasure radiating out from her cunt. She bit the inside of her cheek as she simultaneously shoved one finger inside herself and pressed down hard directly over her clit until she was seeing sparks of light behind her closed eyelids.

“Breathe, Mine,” Sir murmured in her ear and her eyes popped open in surprise, two things becoming immediately clear. First, Neville had apparently left at some point while she was busy pleasuring herself and she was once again alone with her Sir in their little corner of the Common Room. Second, she was holding her breath and had no idea how long she’d been doing so.

Her lips parted and the air rushed out of her lungs, pulling a low moan with it that she muffled as best she could.

“I’m s-so close, Sir,” she hissed, rubbing faster over her clit, her breath coming in short gasps.

She felt him move and a moment later he was pushing against her body, moving her so she was laying down more fully, her head resting on a cushion he’d set on his lap. “You have permission to cum,” he whispered to her, bright green eyes darker than she’d ever seen them as she looked up from her position on his lap. “Use the cushion to muffle your sounds if you need to.”

A flood of gratitude rushed through her and she immediately turned and moaned into the cushion, practically smothering herself as she pinched her clit between her thumb and forefinger. A tense feeling had been building in her stomach for some time. A slow coiling of muscles as pressure built higher and higher until she was ready to burst.

Her Sir’s hand slid along her back under the blanket until she felt him cup her bared arse, gently squeezing and massaging her flesh and she involuntarily tightened around her plug, adding an entirely new sensation to her rapidly approaching release. Her next moan turned into a short scream when he suddenly pulled the plug half way from her body, only to shove it back in a moment later.

 _Oh my fucking God,_ she thought, as he started fucking her arse with her plug, soft grunts escaping her each time the object was thrust back into her body. That new and absolutely wonderful sensation, combined with the finger she still had buried in her cunt and the ones rubbing her clit, sent her over the edge within half a dozen strokes.

The tightly coiled spring at her center erupted and she could do nothing to hold back a loud scream into the cushion as she rode the waves of her orgasm. Her cunt clamped down tightly on her finger even as her arse gripped her plug, her entire body shaking uncontrollably as her mind drifted away in a sea of pleasure as the world around her dropped away, leaving nothing but the intense sensations coursing through her.

She came back to herself rather quickly, she thought. She hadn’t moved, or been moved in the time that she lost awareness of everything else. She was still lying on her side with her head in Sir’s lap, both of her hands shoved between her legs, and Sir was still fucking her arse with her plug, gently moving it back and forth inside her shivering, over stimulated body in short, easy motions. She shuddered, another soft moan slipping past her lips and she felt his other hand stroking her hair.

Hermione took a few moments to simply bask in the afterglow of her release and the comforting sensation of his strong hand stroking her hair so gently and tenderly before she opened her eyes and turned enough that she could look up at him again.

“Thank you, Sir,” she whispered.

“For what?” he asked, smirk in place and one brow arched questioningly at her. He knew, she could tell. He wasn’t asking out of any confusion but because he wanted to make her say it.

“For letting me cum, Sir. And for helping me,” she added the second part with a deep flush burning in her cheeks.

“Helping you?” he asked, pulling her plug a bit further out before pushing it back in, harder than before, pulling a gasping moan from her as her body was forced to stretch and shift around that wonderfully invasive toy. “How did I help you?”

She wanted to hide her face, she tried to chew on her lip, but just barely stopped herself. She couldn’t look away. Sir didn’t like it when she hid her face, or hid how she was feeling, and he loved embarrassing her.

“Y-you helped,” she gasped as he twisted her plug, “when you started f-fucking my arse w-with my plug.”

The smirk on his lips grew, amusement and lust clear in his eyes. “You have no idea how sexy you look when you fall apart like that,” he said. “My slutty Mine, _loudly_ cumming your brains out right in the Common Room.”

Her eyes widened immediately and she tried to sit up but his hand quickly moved from her hair to her shoulder, holding her down as he made soothing noises to her in the face of her sudden panic.

“Merlin, they heard me!” she hissed, completely and utterly mortified. Dammit, she knew it, she _knew_ she wouldn’t be able to keep quiet. She wouldn’t be able to look at anyone in the Tower again. She would probably have to leave the school, transfer somewhere else to escape the rumors and gossip and-

“Did you honestly think that I would let anything like that happen?” he asked, his voice hard and a touch… hurt?

She blinked several times, panic falling away into confusion as she stopped trying to get up and looked up at him, her bemusement clear in her expression.

“That first day when we wrote up the first version of our contract,” he explained, “I… I was disappointed in myself. When you sealed the door to our old classroom, I remember thinking that was something that I should have done. Basic security, protecting you during our fun and making sure that no one else finds out unless we decide to let them know… that’s part of my responsibility.” He looked away from her for a moment, his eyes scanning the portion of the room that he could see from his seat on the couch before he turned his attention back to her.

“I’ve been looking up spells and charms like that. Things that could be useful. I’m guessing you didn’t notice, based on your reaction, but when Neville left I told him I was going to put up an interesting little privacy charm that I found in the Library. It’s not exceptionally powerful, and it wouldn’t keep people from ignoring or seeing us entirely, but with you muffling yourself in the cushion it did the job. My excuse to Neville was that I didn’t want anyone else in the room to bother you since you were resting.”

"When you wrote up our contract, you asked for me not to just control you, but to _own_ you. Shouldn’t that mean that you trust I will make things work out for you, even when it seems like they won't? You know I would never give you an order that would really hurt you. If I ask you to do something, you have to trust that doing it is safe, even if it doesn't _seem_ that way to you.

“That requires trust in my abilities to plan, and I'd like to think I'm showing I can do that, at least when it comes to making you my own, personal, _begging_ , little slut. If you’re not comfortable with that, I understand. As far as I understand it, though, that's the difference between controlling you and owning you. Am I wrong?"

Hermione was impressed, gaping at him in equal parts open shock and shame. She should have known better, she admonished herself, her mouth snapping closed as her brow furrowed. She knew he was planning ahead more, he was thinking more clearly and logically than she’d ever seen from him. She knew that, but in a moment of panic that had fled her mind entirely and she’d hurt him. She’d hurt him by not having faith that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. He would never let her reputation be damaged that way if there was anything he could do to stop it.

Slowly, she sat up as he’d long since moved his hand from her arse while he was talking and she carefully pulled him into her arms. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, Sir. I should have known better than that. You’re right, I _didn’t_ hear you talking to Neville about that, but I still should have known better. I do want you to own me, and I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

His own arms came up and enfolded her body, almost as if by reflex, and he let out a deep sigh.

“To be fair,” he mused, “I can’t really blame you for thinking the worst.”

She immediately drew back to protest, but he kept talking before she could give voice to the words that waited on the tip of her tongue.

“You said it yourself, I’ve never been one to actually _have_ a plan, most of the time. I shouldn’t be surprised that you wouldn’t expect me to be better than I’ve always shown up till now, at least not right away. I’d like to hope that you might start to feel more comfortable that, at least with us, I’m definitely putting in a lot more thought and planning into what I do.”

Her head nodded rapidly, wild curls bouncing around her head and shoulders. “I do,” she insisted. “I _have_ noticed that, I just panicked for a moment there.”

He leaned closer, placing a gentle kiss to her lips before he drew back, his signature lopsided smile in place and she returned it with a broad grin of her own, pleased to have worked past this small hurdle in their relationship.

She turned, carefully repositioning her blanket so that it covered the both of them and, pulling her skirt back down, just in case, leaned against him again, her head resting on his shoulder.

“So… does that mean that you’ve been planning this?” she asked, her curiosity getting the best of her once again.

He chuckled quietly. “It’s all part of what I’ve been planning for you, Mine,” he responded. “I wanted to see how long, how much it took to get you _really_ worked up.” He paused for a moment and when he resumed talking his voice was firmer, even a touch stern. “And while we’re on that subject… do you remember us putting in a rule that you were not allowed to let yourself get to the point where I might need to spring a session on you?”

_Crap._

“I remember, Sir,” she whispered, her head dipping slightly against his shoulder as she almost instinctively shrank in on herself in shame and remorse.

“I admit, I wanted you worked up, but I didn’t mean for it to get _this_ bad. Why didn’t you ask me sooner?”

She fidgeted in place for a moment before letting out a sigh. “I was embarrassed,” she finally admitted.

“Embarrassed?”

She nodded. “I… I just couldn’t bring myself to ask you for permission. I couldn’t pluck up the courage to ask, knowing that if you said I could, you’d _know_ what I was doing.”

“But…” His tone was confused. “But I _already_ know. Hell, I’ve gotten you off myself more than once, Mine.”

“I know,” she said, blowing out a frustrated sigh. “I know, it’s just… different, somehow.”

Harry hummed wordlessly, unconsciously pulling her closer to him while he thought over what she’d just said. “So, is it different in a bad way?”

She shrugged. “I don’t really know.”

He hummed again, frowning slightly. “Well, let me know if you come to a conclusion. In the meantime, I think we need to discuss Daphne.”

Hermione blinked a couple of times in surprise as she shifted mental gears and lifted her head, looking about wildly for a moment before she spotted the folded piece of parchment that Harry had handed to her earlier lying on the floor.

After retrieving it she settled back against her boyfriend’s side and looked it over again as Harry explained his encounter with the beautiful Slytherin in more detail.

“So, Daphne offered a wager,” she summarized after he finished. “If you can figure out what it is she _might_ one day want your help with, she’ll tell why she picked you as the person to help her. If you can’t, then she gets whatever it is she wrote on this parchment?”

“That’s about the size of it,” he said. “Also, whatever it is that she wrote, she swears it’s a small thing, but she gets it from both of us, you _and_ me.”

“You sound like you want to accept her wager,” Hermione pointed out and he shrugged his free shoulder.

“I’m not entirely certain, but I’ve been giving things a lot of thought recently.” He gave her a sidelong look. “ _You’ve_ had me thinking a lot, I should say.” He paused and let out a sigh. “Let’s be honest, before you approached me about all of this… I’ve never been one to put in the work. I’ve never really thought everything through. You changed that.”

She had been about to defend him, her mouth already open to blame his relatives for his poor performance habits when his final statement caused her to ask, “what did I do?”

When he turned more fully toward her, the look in his eyes caused her breath to catch in her throat. “You trusted me with something precious. Yourself. Me, an underachieving, Quidditch obsessed, trouble magnet who has put your life in danger more times than I could count.

“But, even with all that against me, you still trust me to do this, to be this person that you need. I couldn’t understand what it was that you saw in me that made you think that I was worthy of that level of trust. So, I decided I needed to step up and take your advice, look for some control in my life. My classes and grades were a first step. Having to plan our sessions was another. Then, finding out about my family and the legacy I have to live up to…”

He let out a long breath as she sat in shock at what her request had wrought in him. She knew he wasn’t living up to his potential, but he was honestly exceeding all expectations that she might have had of him.

“In regards to Daphne… her family is one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, like my own. She’s much more politically savvy than I likely will ever be, and having her as a friend and a potential ally could be extremely valuable in the future.  A reasonably friendly wager with relatively small stakes seems like a good way to gauge if we can actually be friends with her, and I don’t think that either of us can say that we have too many friends, can you?”

Dumbly, Hermione shook her head. Everything he was saying made sense, and she was thrilled and so proud that he was finally, really _using_ that intelligence she’d just known that he was capable of. What she hadn’t counted on was just how sexy and attractive she found it.

 _So… I guess I’m a sapiosexual,_ she though, not too surprised to realize that she was sexually attracted to her partner’s intelligence.

She realized, suddenly, that he was looking at her expectantly and her mouth felt dry as she licked her lips. “You’ve made some very good points,” she started slowly, attempting to organize her thoughts. “Honestly, I can’t say that I really like the idea of befriending someone based on what potential benefits they might bring… but she does appear to be doing the same thing. It couldn’t hurt to try and see how genuine she is about wanting to be friends, either way.”

“So, you think we should accept her wager?”

“I think we might be missing out on a potential opportunity if we didn’t. Besides, if this stake she wants really is no big deal, I don’t see what we really have to lose.”

He nodded. “I don’t like having to wonder if she wants to be friends, honestly, or if it’s just a means to an end, which makes the entire friendship potentially tainted.”

“Why do they have to be mutually exclusive?”

“You think she could actually want to be friends with me, of all people, and still want to use me for something at the same time?” He seemed skeptical.

“Well, isn’t that kind of what we’re doing?” she asked. “We’re together because we want to be together, but we also get something out of it at the same time. All human interaction is like that, to a degree. I don’t like it, but I recognize the truth of it. And who knows? Giving her a chance might see us getting a good friend out of the experience.”

Harry thought that over for a moment before he nodded again and tapped the parchment in her hand with the tip of one finger. “All right. Put that away somewhere safe and tomorrow I’ll let Daphne know that we’ll play her game.”

It was Hermione’s turn to nod, all the while hoping that they were right, and that this decision wouldn’t come back to bite them. Before she could think more on it, he started speaking again.

“Saturday is our next session… do you need one sooner?”

She shook her head. “No, Sir. I will ask if I need to between now and then but I’m fairly content at the moment.”

His eyes searched her face briefly before he let it go. “Okay,” he murmured. His hand slid down and tapped the end of her plug through her skirt, pulling a surprised squeak from her and a deep flush rose in her cheeks.

“Go ahead and take this out before you go to bed,” he told her. “I think you’ve earned a bit of a break, but it goes back in as soon as you wake up tomorrow morning and I’ll be thinking over your punishment before Saturday, understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I think I’m gonna head to bed now, it’s late and Oliver is insane.” A boyish smile turned up his lips and she couldn’t help but smile in return, leaning forward to give him a soft kiss.

“Goodnight, Mine,” he murmured against her lips.

“Goodnight, Sir.”

He stood and made his way across the room and started up the stairs toward the boys dorm, disappearing quickly. It wasn’t more than a few minutes before Hermione decided she was ready to sleep as well, so she headed upstairs and quickly got ready for bed.

Slipping into her bed she tucked the plug, cleaned and wrapped in a small hand towel, into a drawer in her nightstand before she pulled her curtains shut and burrowed her way down under her sheets and blankets. In minutes she was fast asleep, a small smile curving her lips.

 

 


	12. Lessons in Embarrassment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies gang. I had trouble posting this here even though it was posted elsewhere weeks ago. here it is.

Two Little Words

Lessons in Embarrassment

 

The Room looked different on Saturday morning immediately after breakfast. A breakfast that she'd eaten lightly at, not trusting the knots in her stomach to let her keep anything heavy down. The usual fireplace stood at one wall but the only furniture was a small table, a single chair, and a plush looking sofa directly opposite the fire.

Hermione held her position, once again completely naked with her ever present green ribbon tied around her neck, her hair swept back and tied off to make sure she was properly displayed. She'd been waiting for some time. She thought it was longer than Sir had ever kept her waiting before, actually, and she was starting to worry that something was wrong.

Had she done something else wrong? Had he gotten hurt? Had Black returned to the castle? Her mind spun in a dizzying whirl of possibilities, each worse than the last in one way or another.

Finally, the door opened and her Sir walked into the room. She couldn't help herself. Her mouth dropped open as she took in the sight of him. He was dressed in his uniform slacks and beat up old trainers which he kicked off nearly the moment he walked in the door followed by his socks, but he wasn't wearing the button down shirt that was included with the uniform. Instead he wore a simple, white, short-sleeved t-shirt and his left forearm was wrapped, nearly from wrist to elbow, in a fresh bandage.

"Sir!" she blurted out before she could hold it back and she cringed when he turned, one eyebrow raised to look at her.

"Mine?" he asked in a calm tone that sent a thrill of apprehension up her spine.

"Y-you're hurt," she stammered slightly, fighting the urge to look away from him.

A moment later he turned and continued walking toward the couch where he dropped the canvas duffle bag she'd seen the week before. "It's nothing," he said. "Just a little accident."

She very much wanted to argue, to protest that a bandage that covered half his arm was not nothing, nor could it be considered little, but she held her tongue, settling into her pose as she tried to focus her thoughts. What could have happened to him? He hadn't met her in the Common Room that morning, though she'd found a note on her pillow, delivered by Dobby, that let her know he would meet her in the Room.

She'd thought he might have been preparing something, or collecting something to use during their session, but it now seemed like he'd been for a visit to the Hospital Wing instead and she had no idea what could have happened to hurt him.

"Really, Mine," he said, causing her focus to shit from her thoughts back to him. "It's nothing. A stupid little accident that was all my fault. Madam Pomfrey said it should be all healed up by tomorrow."

She nodded, relieved to hear that and relaxed more fully into her pose as her Sir moved from his spot by the couch to take a seat in the chair in front of her, elbows resting on his knees with his hands clasped in front of him.

"I'd like to get this out of the way first," he said calmly. "I did have different plans for today and we can get to those afterwards, if you feel up to it."

"I understand, Sir," she said, making sure to speak clearly and keeping her eyes on his.

"We have rules for a reason, don't we, Mine?" he asked.

"Sir?" She couldn't help the slight note of confusion in her voice.

"Our relationship… what we each want out of the dynamic that we're building. We wrote out and agreed on a set of rules so that things could run as smoothly and safely as possible, right?"

"Yes, Sir."

"The other day, you failed to follow one of the most important rules, or, at least in my mind it is. You are not to let yourself get into a state were your work suffers, or where you suffer, are you?"

"No, Sir, I'm not," she whispered, though somewhere in the back of her mind, something stirred, some thought attempting to make its way into the foreground, almost demanding her attention.

"Do you agree that you did this?"

She opened her mouth to immediately agree, but stopped, unable to get the words out for several seconds before she suddenly let out a sigh.

"What is it?" he asked, watching her curiously.

Hesitantly, she answered. "I- I'm sorry, Sir," she said. "'I don't think I can agree with that."

The moment the words passed her lips, her eyes closed. She didn't want to see the disappointment that she was sure would be on his face.

"Look at me, Mine," he said. His tone was firm, but calm, and she carefully opened her eyes. "Don't hide from me. I won't get upset if you disagree in a situation like this. That's why we discuss these things, right? That's why I've insisted on that from the very beginning."

She nodded, a hopeful feeling of relief rising in her chest. "Yes, Sir," she breathed.

"So, explain your thoughts to me. Let's discuss this."

Nodding again, she took a few deep breaths and gathered her thoughts. "First… well, I don't believe I honestly broke that rule," she said as evenly as she could.

"How so?"

"The rule was that I couldn't get into a state where you had to spring a surprise session on me, Sir. That… that didn't happen. I  _did_  ask for permission to… permission to play w-with myself."

She'd started out strong, but by the end of her explanation she'd descended into embarrassed muttering, her face flushing a bright red. Sir's mouth twitched and she knew that he was trying not to smirk at her.

"What was that, Mine?" he asked.

She repeated herself, louder, but with no less stammering or stuttering.

He finally allowed himself a smirk at that, but set aside whatever he appeared to want to say for the moment in order to address the immediate discussion at hand. His smirk fell away after a moment, as he leaned back in his seat, his face settling into a contemplative expression for a time.

"What was second?" he asked suddenly after several minutes spent in silent thought.

Hermione jumped slightly, startled by the abrupt sound of his voice. "Sir?"

"You said, 'first'. That usually means there's more. What was second?"

She hesitated again, sure that her next point would not be well received, but unsure of precisely how he might react.

"The other day… you talked about trusting you. Trusting that you'll protect me, that you won't let me be hurt and that, even if it may appear as if you're leading me into danger, I need to learn to trust that you won't, or you aren't."

Nervously she licked her lips before taking a deep breath in order to continue. "You also said that you  _wanted_  me worked up. It's all part of this plan of yours that you're keeping to yourself... and that's entirely your prerogative, Sir!" she rushed to add, "You have every right not to include me in every detail, that's part of trusting you and, really, if you have to check with me over everything, well, that kind of takes away some of the impact of you being in control of me.

"But… in this case I trusted you. I did what you asked. I didn't… I didn't do anything, and I kept my plug in as you ordered and you led me to being in that state. You brought me there, intentionally, and now you want to punish me for something you ordered me to do?"

She shifted slightly as he simply stared at her, her nerves ratcheting up with every passing second, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I mean… if I've done something wrong, if I've earned a punishment then I agree, absolutely, that you should punish me. But I-I just don't feel that… I mean in this particular case I'm not certain-"

"Stop, Hermione," he cut her off as she started to ramble and her mouth shut with an audible click, her cheeks flushed. Harry watched her for another few moments before he let out a sigh and seemed to almost shrink in his chair as he sagged in on himself, his shoulders hunching inward, chin lowering slightly toward his chest.

"Damn," he muttered, fingers digging into his thighs as tension grew through his frame. "Dammit." He leaned forward, head hanging down, elbows on his knees. "Thank you," he finally said and she blinked in surprise.

"F-for what, Sir?"

"Don't… don't call me that."

He sat up again, face twisted in disgust. "This is exactly the kind of thing I was talking about before," he said. "If… if I hadn't insisted that we talk these things out… I don't want to hurt you, Hermione."

"You didn't."

"I could have. I was only planning for you to write lines in this case, but… what if I'd had a different punishment in mind? Something that would have honestly hurt, and it was for no reason? Or no good reason?"

"That didn't happen."

"But it could. That's part of what I was against with the idea of punishments in the first place."

Hermione was momentarily at a loss for words and she could see him beginning to retreat into a well of self-recrimination. She was well aware how personally he tended to take things, how much he tended to blame himself for things that went wrong, and that had been what she was most concerned about in bringing up the issues she'd mentioned.

"What happened to your arm?" she asked, hoping to distract him from those thoughts, and maybe hoping to gather a little information, she was able to admit to herself.

"It's nothing."

"It's not nothing," she disagreed, feeling far more comfortable arguing with him since he didn't seem to want to focus on their roles at the moment. Carefully, she moved out of her pose and pushed herself to her feet. She winced as she moved, muscles stiff and sore from holding her position for so long her knees cracked as she straightened, but before too long she was standing and she walked over to him, holding out one hand.

"Come here," she murmured softly and he slowly, almost reluctantly took her hand, letting her pull him to his feet, slowly leading him over to the couch where she gently pushed him down into one corner.

"What are you doing?" he asked as she sat in his lap, his right arm automatically coming around to wrap around her lower back.

"I'm not going to let you blame yourself for something that we avoided, and I'm worried about this injury you seem to have acquired overnight that I know nothing about. You weren't attacked were you?"

"No."

She gently took his left hand in hers, laying his bandaged forearm across her bare legs. "So, what happened?"

At first she didn't think he would answer, but he slowly relaxed, just a bit, and let out a long breath. "I burned myself."

"How did you manage that?" she asked, wincing in sympathy.

"I… actually, it was for you," he admitted, almost sheepishly.

"For me?" She blinked again, completely befuddled by that particular answer.

"Your list of five things you wanted to try… you included wax play on there." He shrugged one shoulder. "I didn't want to risk hot wax on you without knowing how it felt, or how high to drop the wax from so it wouldn't be  _too_  hot. I was messing around with it early this morning, and I obviously didn't get it right."

She tucked a finger under his chin and tilted his head up from where he was looking down at the bandage on his arm, smiling brightly at him as their eyes met.

"You have no idea just how much you're doing right," she told him as earnestly as she could, barely holding back a laugh at the shocked expression that flitted across his face. "I mean it," she insisted before he could protest. "You didn't want me to get hurt, so you ended up hurting  _yourself_  trying to figure it out. We might have had a situation here, but we avoided that  _because_  you insist that we discuss all punishments; that the 'why' is completely clear to both of us.

"Accidents can and will happen,  _Sir_ ," she said, adding a special emphasis to the last word. "That's just the way of the world. But you've done a lot to minimize them, and that's just another thing that proves I was right to trust you."

"But I-"

"Yes, I trusted you, and you led me into a situation that wasn't ideal. But you're not perfect, Sir. You're going to make mistakes at times. But I know they won't be careless or stupid mistakes, because you've tried, and keep trying, so hard to make sure you don't hurt me beyond what's deserved."

Sighing, he pulled her closer with the arm he had wrapped around her and dropped his head, pressing his face into the crook between her neck and shoulder. She couldn't help but shiver as his breath washed hotly across her skin.

"You know," he said, his voice muffled against her, "I used to be really good at wallowing in my own misery. Why won't you let me do that?"

Hermione smiled, lifting her hands to gently run her fingers through his messy hair. "It's my job to be here for you, just as much as you see it as your job to protect me," she whispered. "Sub, girlfriend, best friend… no matter what, or who, I am, I'm always here for you, and I'm not going to let you make yourself miserable over something that didn't happen. Something that was prevented largely because of the precautions that  _you_  insisted on."

"I could just order you to, you know."

She actually laughed at that, slightly surprised at how relieved she felt to hear him cracking jokes over the entire situation. "That's an order I'll never obey, Sir."

He sat up and leaned in to kiss her briefly before he leaned back again, a considering expression on his face. She sat quietly in his lap, letting him think for several long minutes as she simply enjoyed being close to him.

"I still think there's something we need to address," he said. "I'm not entirely certain how to define what I'm thinking though."

"What is it, Sir?"

"Not… not a punishment… but I believe there's something about your behavior that needs to be adjusted, Mine."

She sat up, her spine straightening at the shift in his tone and the use of his name for her, a shiver of apprehension running through her.

"Sir?"

"I  _did_  want you worked up, I admit, but you said you didn't ask me for permission because you were embarrassed. It was largely the fact that you tried to hold out for so long that got you into the state you were in on Wednesday night, correct?"

"Yes, Sir," she agreed, realizing that he was right. She knew she should have asked sooner, but she just hadn't been able to shake that embarrassment. That and possibly the idea of asking for permission to do something that had always been hers to do when she wanted, without anyone else's permission being needed. It would be like needing his permission to use the loo.

 _Oh, Merlin, please don't let him think of_ that _._

The fingers of his right hand tapped, absently against her hip for several seconds as he thought. Finally, he nodded to himself.

"Stand up and bring my chair over here, Mine," he ordered, which she immediately moved to obey. She moved over and grabbed the chair, pulling it across the floor toward the couch and turned it at his direction so that it was placed six feet away and facing where Sir was sitting in the center.

"Sit," he ordered, pointing to the chair.

#####

Harry watched as Hermione sat, carefully dropping into the chair so as not to sit directly on her plug, her arms coming automatically to lie along the arms. It had already been an interesting morning, and personally, he might have been willing to end things there, but he'd promised her a session, and his original plans didn't quite feel right anymore. Besides, the new thought on his mind needed to be addressed, he felt, before they moved on.

"You've enjoyed being embarrassed up till now. You've been turned on by it, and by being humiliated and degraded," he pointed out, noting how she squirmed in her seat for a moment before nodding.

"Yes, Sir, I have," she quietly agreed.

"Then why was this so different? Why was this  _too_  embarrassing for you to come to me?"

"I was thinking… the other night before you came back down… I just…" Hermione sighed and trailed off, frustrated that she couldn't quite seem to find the words she was looking for. "When you're doing this to me, when you're embarrassing me, it's something that you control and it was  _my_  choice to give you that control. That's… comforting and… arousing, if that makes any sense. I was thinking I felt like such a slut, something I've always considered in a very poor light.

"I think I just started to realize just how often I wanted to… to play with myself, and just how much of a slut I've been, or I'm becoming? I don't know. I don't know if that was always there inside me, and I'm just now learning about it, or if it's something new and… I-I'm just not sure how to handle it."

He considered that, chin cupped in his upturned left palm as he observed her.

"Is it something you want to stop?" he finally asked, to which she immediately shook her head.

"No, Sir. I don't want to stop, I just… ugh!" She groaned and dropped her head into her hands, elbows propped on the arms of the chair. "I don't want to stop," she repeated, "I just… I think it's all something I need to learn more about? I mean… part of all this is learning about ourselves, and this is just another aspect of myself that I didn't know. It will most likely just take me time to come to grips with it somehow."

She lifted her head from her hands, looking hopefully at her Sir, hoping that she'd made some kind of sense in her ramblings. She did love it when he embarrassed and humiliated her. She didn't know why, it went against everything she felt she knew to enjoy being degraded that way. She didn't like it when people like Malfoy or Ronald talked to her like she was beneath them, or insulted her. But when Sir did it to her… Merlin, it made her knees week and her heart race.

"Let me know if you ever change your mind on that," he ordered firmly. "I'm not going to be angry if you decide something isn't for you, do you understand?"

She nodded quickly. "Of course, Sir. Thank you."

Sitting up he leaned back in his seat again. "So… would you like to know what I've decided to do for the rest of this session?" he asked, a worrying glint in his eyes and that smirk once again taking up residence on his lips.

_Fuck._

"Yes, Sir," she responded as calmly as she could, but she was absolutely positive that she wasn't able to keep the eagerness and apprehension from her tone. The way his smirk grew, she was equally positive that he'd noticed.

"You might consider this a punishment, at least at first, but I promise you it's not, Mine. You remember, of course, I'm supposed to be training you, right?"

She nodded.

"I'm supposed to be teaching you how to be the kind of sub that I want. Well… part of the problem with that is I don't really know what kind of sub I want. I don't know enough, haven't learned enough about myself yet to really know. But I do believe that I've discovered something I would like to change in your behavior."

"What's that, Sir?"

"You delayed asking my permission because you were embarrassed. You're allowed to be embarrassed, Mine. You know I enjoy seeing you that way.  _But,_ " he added the last word with a special emphasis, stressing it clearly, "you cannot let embarrassment prevent you from following instructions. You were told that if you wanted to get yourself off, you needed to ask me for permission. You wanted to, but you didn't ask because you felt too embarrassed to speak up."

"I rather like you being and acting the horny little slut, just for me. So right now what you're going to do for me, Mine, is sit there, with your legs spread and hooked over the arms of that chair, and you're going to play with yourself while I watch. When you get close, I want you to beg me to let you cum, but you need to convince me that you're not ashamed to beg, that you're not ashamed or embarrassed to be  _my_  slutty Mine. Do you understand?"

#####

 _There it is,_  Hermione thought as he finished speaking.  _There's that confidence and control_.

"I-I u-understand, Sir," she stammered, flushed and wide eyed.

His smile was small, but showed genuine affection that practically had her melting. "Good girl," he said, causing yet another warm rush to flow through her body.

Quickly, she made to follow his orders, and just as quickly, she discovered it wouldn't be quite as simple as she'd first thought. With the plug in her arse she couldn't just lift her legs over the arms of the chair. Doing so would have her weight pushing down directly on the end of the plug. It took her a minute, but eventually she found a position that worked, slumped down in the seat, shifting and tilting her hips so she wasn't resting on the plug as she spread her legs and hooked the backs of her knees over the arms.

She was positive that she'd never blushed more furiously as she found that her new position left both of her holes exposed as if presenting herself to him. With her legs splayed so wide the most intimate parts of her body were completely open to his view, and she couldn't get over how completely wanton and lewd she must look.

 _Like a slut,_  she thought.

"Beautiful."

Her gaze shifted, following the sound of Sir's voice to find that, while she was getting herself into position, he had moved as well. He'd abandoned his seat and was now sitting on the ground, his legs stretched out before him with his back resting against the front of the couch. This new seat put his face perfectly level with her exposed cunt and arse.

"Sir!" she blurted out. "What are you doing?"

He looked away from her soaked and swollen cunt, green eyes flicking up to her face for a moment before dropping back to where she had instinctively covered herself with her hands.

"Didn't I tell you that you aren't to hide yourself from me?" he asked, a warning note in his voice.

She whimpered slightly before she slowly moved her hands. "I'm sorry, Sir," she whined, breath already labored and heavy, and she hadn't even started yet!

"Don't be sorry, just stop doing that. As for what I'm doing, I'm making sure I have a good spot to watch you fuck yourself."

 _Oh, God,_  she thought even as her face burned and a low whine made its way out of her mouth.

"You'd better get started, Mine," he reminded her a moment later. "And don't forget, you need to convince me that you've earned the right to cum."

"Yes, Sir," she replied and immediately her hands drifted back between her legs, not to hide, but to follow her orders.

As her fingers hesitantly slid through her slick folds, Hermione felt herself torn in opposing directions. On the one hand she'd never felt more mortified or embarrassed. To be playing with herself like this, in full view, putting herself so completely on display. On the other hand, she found herself falling easily into her headspace and she was reminded of the feeling she'd had during their last session in the Room the previous week. The feeling that Hermione was fading away and, more and more, with each passing moment, she became Mine.

Mine, who was nothing but a slut for her Sir. A toy for him to play with and use however he saw fit.

Despite the tentative and hesitant quality of her physical explorations of her body in that precise moment, her emotional state ramped her up to the point where she was close to her release within just minutes of starting. Her body felt flushed, muscles tightening as her back arched completely outside her conscious will, thrusting her breasts up and forward in the process.

She was close, but nowhere near as desperate as she'd been on Wednesday night.

"May I c-cum, Sir?" she panted.

"Look at me, Mine," he ordered and she opened her eyes, unaware that she'd had them closed the entire time, and looked at him between her splayed legs.

She whimpered when she noticed that his gaze was fixed intently at the juncture between her thighs where her hands were busy stroking her cunt.

"You don't seem particularly… enthusiastic," he commented in a conversational tone, as if commenting on the weather, or discussing some mundane piece of trivia.

"I'm… I'm not sure-" She broke off, moaning softly for a moment before she finished, "what you mean, Sir."

"Stop," he ordered firmly and her hands froze. "Move your hands."

She did, shivering slightly as she took her soaked fingers away and rested then on her bare thighs.

"I said you were to beg me," he said, his eyes never moving away from her cunt and the gem of the plug nestled firmly in her arse. "You need to convince me that you deserve to cum."

"I'm sorry, S-Sir. It's just…"

"Just what, Mine?"

"I'm just… n-nervous."

He was silent for a moment as her heart rate slowed slightly and she moved further away from the imminent orgasm she'd been approaching. She barely bit back a yelp when Harry suddenly waved his wand and with a muttered incantation, her chair started to slide forward, closer to him. She had been six feet away, and when her chair stopped moving, his feet were just under the edge of her seat, bringing her to within three feet of him and she was sure her face couldn't get any redder than it currently was as he adjusted his glasses on his nose.

"Why do you want to submit to me?" he asked in an almost conversational tone, as if he weren't mere feet away from her as her body leaked her arousal onto the seat beneath her.

"Why… Sir?"

"Why, Mine?" he repeated. "Is it just that you want to be controlled? Just that you want someone to order you around? Or do you also want to make your Dom, your Sir, happy with you? Do you want me to be pleased with you?"

"I love it every time I do something that I know pleases you," she admitted. "It causes a feeling… it's unlike anything I've ever experienced before. I can't begin to describe it."

"Then you should know that what you're doing here, at my order, pleases me greatly. You shouldn't feel ashamed of what you're doing, how you're feeling. Again, feel embarrassed if you must, but don't let that prevent you from following instructions."

She nodded slowly as her breathing and heart rate both approached something closer resembling normal. "Yes, Sir," she finally said after taking in and releasing a deep, calming breath.

"What are your instructions?"

"To play with myself for you, and I'm to beg you, convince you that I've earned the right to cum," she whimpered.

"Start again," he ordered, "and show me you want it. Don't be so hesitant."

Immediately her left hand drifted between her legs again but her right moved up, sliding across her stomach until she reached her left breast, cupping the soft mound firmly as her fingers slid back into her body.

"Yes, Sir," she moaned as she pinched the hard nub of her nipple between her thumb and forefinger, sending a jolt of pleasure through her body. She kept her eyes open, watching as his gaze remained fixed where two of her fingers now plunged repeatedly inside her, her moans growing louder with each passing moment as her body coiled and tightened.

"You have no idea how sexy you look like this," he murmured, his voice washing over her as she gave her nipple a harder pinch than before, her back arching again as a mixture of pain and pleasure coursed through her.

 _Sir thinks I'm sexy,_  she thought in a daze, another low moaning rising from her throat. Gods, why did that thought make everything feel so much better? Why did doing this for him make her hotter than almost anything she'd ever felt?  _Fuck, who cares?_

"P-please," she whined, the single word broken by a hard thrust of her fingers into the searing heat between her legs. "Please, S-Sir!"

"Please, what, Mine?" he asked, his tone firm but underlaid with something that she couldn't quite place.

"Please… I need… I need to…" She broke off with another moan, scissoring her fingers inside her body as her right hand clutched at her breast with almost bruising force.

"Stop," he ordered and she complied immediately though a piteous whine escaped her as she pulled her hand away from her twitching cunt.

"S-Sir?" she gasped, begged really, her eyes glazed over slightly, lids heavy with lust.

"What are you, Mine?"

"I'm… I'm yours, Sir," she panted, not entirely sure what he was asking.

"Well of course, you're mine," he agreed. "But that's not what I'm asking."

"I don't understand."

"What are you supposed to be? Right now? I already told you what I wanted, what I found I liked you being, just for me."

Her mind cast about, desperate to find the meaning behind his statement but she wasn't sure what he meant.

"Start again," he ordered and she suddenly couldn't get her hands on her cunt fast enough. Gone was any hint of hesitation or embarrassment. She knew she  _should_  feel embarrassed. She should feel ashamed of herself for acting so… so out of control. All she  _knew_  for certain at that time was she wanted desperately to cum.

Her fingers plunged into her body while with her right hand she rubbed at her clit, her muscles twitching and spasming each time her fingers brushed over that swollen, aching bundle of nerves at the top of her mound. Sharp, keening cries escaped her and within minutes she had to force herself to slow down as she teetered on the edge of that abyss.

"Please what?"

Sir's voice cut through the haze her mind had descended into and she realized she'd been begging, pleading, over and over, the words tumbling from her lips completely unbidden.

"Please!" she cried out. "Please, I need to cum, Sir. P-please, may I cum?" she begged.

"What are you?"

The answer suddenly clicked into place and the words sprang to her lips, tumbling out of her before she could even question them. "I'm yours, Sir. Your horny, begging little slut. Just for you, I'm your slut, Sir."

The smile he gave her was so full of pride that it cut through her addled thoughts and another wave of warmth washed through her. "Good girl."

Her body shook, her fingers never ceasing to thrust into her cunt or to circle her clit and her moans turned into gasping pants as she inched ever closer to release.

"Cum for me," he ordered. "My slutty Mine."

At that point she wasn't certain she could have stopped herself if she'd tried, but with his spoken permission she shoved her fingers hard into her body and with her right hand pinched her clit as her entire body suddenly went taut. She didn't moan or cry out. As her back arched again a full throated scream tore itself from her gaping mouth as something inside her snapped and the world around her vanished in a white haze.

She didn't  _think_  she lost consciousness, but later she wouldn't be able to say for certain. All she did know was that when she became aware of her surroundings again, she was curled up in her Sir's lap on the couch and he was holding her trembling, sweat soaked body gently against him.

"Drink," he murmured, and she became aware of the glass of water he was holding in his free hand and just how parched her mouth and throat felt. She drank, gratefully, greedily, her hands failing to respond to any mental commands so she let him hold and tilt the glass for her.

A blanket was wrapped around her and Sir settled further into the couch, cradling her body close against him with one hand gently stroking her hair and up and down her back as she curled into him.

 _Safe,_  she thought, her mind drifting aimlessly as she attempted to burrow against the warm, solid presence beneath her.

"I am very proud of you," he murmured against her hair and she felt him press a kiss to her temple. "You were such a good girl." A warm tingle ran through her and she sighed in contentment, reveling in the feelings rushing through her.

He continued to praise her in quiet murmurs against her ear, hands soothingly stroking her hair and back as she clung to him, her mind swinging wildly back and forth from one extreme to another. She couldn't decide if she felt liberated, freed by behaving in such a wanton and uninhibited way in front of her Sir, or if she was deeply ashamed by how she'd acted.

A slightly distressed, mewling sound escaped her as she burrowed closer to the warm, solid presence of her Sir and his arms tightened around her naked, blanket wrapped body, holding her close.

"What's wrong, Mine?" he asked quietly and she could hear a small note of distress in his voice. She wanted to explain it to him, she wanted that desperately, but somehow the words wouldn't come and she only shook her head, pressing her face against his neck and repeatedly breathing in the calming scent of his skin.

"Talk to me, love," he ordered gently.

She shook her head again. "Just… not sure… not sure how to feel," she muttered against his neck.

"How do you mean?"

She shrugged, the blanket slipping off one shoulder for a moment before he pulled it back up, carefully wrapping her in its warmth.

"Is it a bad thing?" he asked gently and she shook her head again.

"Don't think so. Not sure," she muttered.

He hummed quietly, as he had a tendency to do, and simply held her, one hand continuing to stroke up and down her back. The scent of him filled her nose and the feel of his body beneath her, his hands on her back… it all came together to calm and soothe her and before she knew it she was simply drifting. Her mind thought of nothing beyond the feelings of love and safety that filled her as she rested in her Sir's arms.

Eventually she began to feel more like herself and she stirred in his arms, pressing soft kisses against his neck.

"Welcome back," he murmured softly, his arms tightening around her again. "I was getting worried about you."

She let out a long, contented sigh.

"There was absolutely nothing to worry about, Sir," she whispered. "That was… I can't describe what that experience was like. I'm sorry I worried you though, I just couldn't get my mind to focus."

"Is that something you think is likely to happen again?" he asked.

She considered that carefully for a moment, absently nuzzling into the crook of his neck as her mind worked. "I think it might," she finally admitted. "I… I just felt so completely submissive. I couldn't think about any of my inhibitions or anything, nothing but doing what you ordered me to do by the end, Sir. I was… I wasn't sure how to feel. Part of me wanted to feel terribly ashamed of how I acted, but another part felt so liberated, giving up control to you like that."

She tried to find better words to describe what she'd experienced but nothing seemed to fit, nothing seemed to properly convey the depth of her feelings so instead she simply pressed herself closer, molding her body to his as her arms came around him and she hugged him tightly, doing her best to convey without any words just how much she appreciated him, and what he was doing for her.

Harry let out a small groan as she shifted on his lap.

"What's wrong?" she asked, immediately pulling back in concern.

He let out a small laugh. "Nothing's wrong, Mine," he assured her. "You're just killing me here."

He shifted slightly beneath her and she flushed as she suddenly felt the hard length of his erection under her arse.

Her pulse quickened slightly as an idea popped into her mind. "May I… can I help you with that?" she asked, almost timidly, wary of any action that might be construed as her attempting to take any form of control. She really didn't want to give him a reason to have to punish her again.

He quirked a brow at her, his expression otherwise unreadable for several moments before he spoke. "Did you have something in mind?" he asked and she flushed again as a thought immediately crowded to the forefront of her mind.

She hesitated, however, to voice it and his quirked brow lowered into a frown.

"If I ask if you have a thought, or a preference, it's because I want to know, Mine. If it doesn't fit what I have in mind, or if I don't want to do it, I'll tell you, but don't be embarrassed to answer a question when I ask."

She flushed again, but shamefully that time and nodded.

"Of course, Sir, I'm sorry." She shifted nervously on his lap, once more becoming acutely aware of his condition and she couldn't help but lick her lips, just slightly.

"Honestly, since last week I've really… I've really wanted to taste you again, Sir," she forced out in a small, quiet tone.

His frown cleared and suddenly there was a trace of amusement in his eyes and he tilted his head away from her, offering her better access to his neck. "By all means," he said. "Though I'm honestly not sure that will really be enough to help with my problem."

Her cheeks burned and she squirmed even more in his lap. "Tha-that's not exactly what I meant, Sir," she admitted and he straightened up so he could look at her more fully.

"Say what you mean, then, Mine."

Taking a deep breath she sat up straight in his lap, letting the blanket fall from her shoulders. "I would very much like to feel your cock in my mouth again, Sir. I enjoyed sucking you off last week a lot more than I ever thought I would, and I've been thinking about it off and on ever since," she let out in a single breath, inordinately proud of herself for managing to say the entire thing without stuttering or stumbling even once.

By the expression on Sir's face, he was proud of her too and he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to her cheek. "Good girl," he murmured, his lips moving against her skin and sending a delighted shiver down her spine.

He leaned back, a thoughtful expression stealing over his face for a moment and she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder again while she waited for him to decide what he wanted her to do.

"I had some different plans for today," he admitted after a short time. "That plan of mine that I've been hinting at since last Sunday, to be perfectly honest. But after everything today… I don't feel it's the right time anymore. So I do believe we'll go with your idea, but first you need to get up and get dressed.

She immediately stood, grateful when Sir steadied her as her legs wobbled slightly once she had her feet under her. "May I ask why I need to dress?" she asked as she moved over to collect her clothes from where she'd folded them and left them beside the sofa earlier.

With her lesson so fresh in her mind, she gave barely a moment's consideration to a thought that occurred to her before she bent over, her feet slightly apart, giving Sir a perfect view of her cunt and the plug in her arse as she picked up her clothes.

 _It's all right to act a little slutty,_  she reminded herself, a thrill passing through her at her own actions,  _as long as it's just for Sir._  Clothes in hand, she set them on the arm of the couch and began dressing, first stepping into and then pulling a dark, knee length skirt up her legs and over her hips.

"It's getting close to lunch," he said as she slipped her bra on and reached back to hook it closed, adjusting it after a moment so the straps sat comfortably over her shoulders, "But we need to head back to the common room for a minute when we're done here before we can go to the Great Hall."

Nodding, she pulled on a t-shirt, larger than those she typically wore to sleep in, and then a comfortable jumper over that. Once her socks and shoes were on her feet she had only her robes left and glanced over at him.

"Leave the robes," he ordered. "Come here, Mine."

She moved over to stand in front of him and lowered herself to her knees, waiting patiently for his order.

"I think you know what to do, don't you, Mine?"

Hermione nodded eagerly and placed her hands on his knees before sliding them up his thighs to his belt. Faster than she'd expected, she had his belt undone, trousers unbuttoned, and was pulling them and his black boxers down as he obligingly lifted his bum off of the couch in order to help her.

It was just as she was wrapping her lips around the head of his stiff member that he gave her another order. A moan of mixed desire and panic escaped her but she carefully kept her attention on her task as she set to bringing her Sir to cum in her welcoming mouth.

#####

Harry chatted brightly with his Mine as the two of them made their way through the seventh floor corridors toward the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. For a day that had started off on a few rocky notes, he felt things had progressed rather well. They'd managed to avoid some stumbling blocks, yet he felt closer to her than ever before after the conversation they'd had. While he was attempting his usual self-flagellation, she'd overcome his self-doubts, and he resolved to find some way to show her just how much he appreciated her and everything she did for him.

She had been excruciatingly gorgeous and sexy to him during her lesson, the way her body moved, the sounds that escaped her mouth as she'd brought herself to the edge on his order.  _That feeling is absolutely habit forming,_  he thought again, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he tried to focus on going over Ancient Runes with the wonderful witch at his side. The control she gave up to him, taking that control over her was absolutely the headiest and most intoxicating feeling he'd ever imagined and he found himself enjoying the control that he had over her more and more as each day passed.

These sessions might have been largely for her benefit at first, but he could no longer deny that he was reaping the benefits as well, and not just in having a willing and enthusiastic partner for their growing sexual explorations. He felt calmer, more in control of himself, and more confident in himself. He was enjoying his new class immensely, finding Ancient Runes to be a fascinating subject, and he couldn't help but think that all the changes in his life had stemmed from one joking command given to her late one December evening and two little words that sparked the changes in both their lives after that.

They stopped in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady and Harry continued to chat with Hermione who had been nearly completely silent during their walk, only humming quietly to agree or disagree with his statements. The longer they stood there, the redder her cheeks became and the more the Fat Lady eyed them curiously. He could see Mine struggling not to duck her head and knew that she wanted nothing more in that moment then to have her eyes directed at the floor so as to hide her face as best she could.

He only let it go on for a minute… maybe two, before taking pity on her and, standing beside her, he reached over and pinched her bum, as he'd told her he would do once they arrived here.

She jumped, just slightly, her face and neck flushing even more as she took a step forward, catching the Fat Lady's eye. When the portrait had turned its attention completely to his wonderful Mine, she very deliberately swallowed the mouthful of his cum that he'd ordered her to hold until he gave her permission to swallow it.

With her mouth clear, and the Fat Lady looking very confused at her actions, she stammered out the password that would allow them entrance into the Tower. The Fat Lady let out a quiet huff at their behavior before the portrait swung open.

"It's very nearly lunch time," she informed them as they walked past her into the Common Room. "You might want to hurry things along."

"We will, thank you," Harry called back cheerfully, hooking his arm through Mine's and leading her calmly over to their spot by the fire.

The Common Room was empty, the students likely all already down in the Great Hall so when they reached the couch he sat and pulled her, unresisting into his lap.

"Did that embarrass you?" he asked. "Swallowing my cum in front of the portrait like that, knowing that she'd see and that she'll be wondering about it?"

She nodded her head rapidly, "Yes, Sir."

"But did you enjoy it?" he pressed when she fell silent and she squirmed in his lap.

"Yes, Sir," she breathed quietly.

Harry couldn't help but smile as he let his right hand tangle in her hair at the base of her skull, pulling her toward him to press a gentle kiss to her lips.

"Before we head down to eat I want you to tell me what you learned today," he whispered to her, leaning back on the sofa so he could see her clearly.

"It's okay to be embarrassed," she said, "but I can't let that stop me from following instructions."

He nodded. "And?" he prompted her, smirking when she flushed again.

"I-it's okay to be and act like a slut, as long as it's just for you, Sir."

Pride filling him, he pulled her into a tight hug, his arms wrapped securely around her waist as her own arms came up around his shoulders. They sat there holding each other for a few minutes before he pulled away and gently urged her to her feet.

Once he was standing as well he cupped her cheeks with his hands and pressed another kiss to her forehead. "Good girl," he told her in a quiet voice, smiling as her expression lit up before he took her hand and led her from the tower, the portrait closing silently behind them on an empty Common Room.


End file.
